


Blood Born

by TheCuriousNumber5



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Age Difference, Awkwardness, Elder Scrolls Online: Greymoor, F/M, I wasn't going to post this..., Love, Romance, Scholar, Sex, Vampires, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 108,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCuriousNumber5/pseuds/TheCuriousNumber5
Summary: What's a very, very old vampire to do with a very, very young one?
Relationships: Fennorian (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 149
Kudos: 225





	1. Correspondence

Ouro pulled on a strap of her heavy leather jack and fastened the buckle before tugging the others to ensure they were properly in place. She could see herself in the standing mirror, which sat across the room, and grimaced at the reflection. Her eyes fell to the still-rumpled bed behind her. Running her fingers through her dark, mussed hair, she caught a tangle and worked it out. It wasn’t quite long enough to properly tie back without looking ridiculous.

 _Ugh_. This was the last time. Though, she’d told herself that last time as well, hadn’t she? Quantitatively, a romp in the fine linen sheets of Count Verandis Ravenwatch was always a good time. All boxes checked; all objectives met. Yet, there was still something left to be desired. Perhaps it was because aside from the respect she felt for his life’s work, and the mutually beneficial nature of their professional relationship…she had surprisingly little opinion of him. He wasn’t dislikeable or unpleasant; she just felt no attachment at all whatsoever. That was the appeal of this arrangement. None of _their kind_ could really afford attachment.

She stepped out to the adjoining sitting room, boots thudding heavily on the wooden floor. It was more of an office than a place of leisure, strewn with books, stacks of papers, and scrolls. This was in addition to his _actual_ office, of course. Verandis, back in his robe once more, had a stack of books in one arm, reading the titles before fitting them into their appropriate places on the shelf in front of him.

He glanced at her. “All set?”

“This is the last time.” Ouro had told him that last time as well, and he cast her a dubious look. “I mean it.” His attention returned to the books.

“I believe you.” He didn’t, but then, neither did she.

“Right, well, I’ll give Tesgrim your regards. Though I imagine next time you ask for aid, it will hopefully not be for something quite so trivial.”

“Still licking old Tesgrim’s boots, then?” He was baiting her, and Ouro said nothing, instead fixing Verandis with a steely stare. He shoved the last book into place and looked up again, then laughed. “If looks could kill!”

“Alas.” She rolled her eyes.

“Come, I’ll walk you out since you’re not willing to stay the night.” He beckoned her, and Ouro followed. It was going to be a long trip home, and already she mentally assembled a list of places to stop and perhaps pick up work on the way. Blood Riders were rare, after all, and their skills were highly, albeit secretly, sought after.

Ouro wasn’t listening to whatever Verandis was going on about. She caught every fifth word or so and surmised that it was something to do with traveling. As they walked, she peered into the rooms with open doors, brazenly curious. Upon passing another chamber that looked like some scholarly explosive device had gone off, she stopped. In the midst of the organized chaos, sat a youthful-looking Altmer vampire who peered very keenly at a book whilst furiously scribbling notes onto parchment, murmuring to himself. His brown hair was shaggy, unkempt but clean, framing his angular face. With a thin build, just about all of him seemed angular. He snapped one book shut and flipped another open, flying through the pages in search of something.

Apparently finding what he sought, the scholar’s face lit up as he shoved his chair back, at once overturning his inkpot. Giving a frantic exclamation, he scooped up all the papers and books from the surface of the cluttered desk, narrowly avoiding the spreading black puddle. Without knowing why, Ouro gave in to impulse, abandoning Verandis who hadn’t realized she’d stopped, and stepped into the room. The scholar’s eyes grew very round and concerned, but she waved her hand over the spilt ink, and it slithered back into the jar, which then righted and corked itself.

She gave him a small smile, expecting to see relief, but all he did was stare in abject horror as though a seeping flesh atronach had blundered into his little space rather than a woman.

“Erm…I can spill it again if you prefer…”

“N-no, of course not, thank you, but I…I…you really should go. Please…” He spluttered, looking suddenly anxious. He jerked backward when she took another step forward, nearly falling over his chair.

“Oh…um, well, good luck with your…” Ouro gestured vaguely at the items clutched in his arms.

“I see you’ve found Fennorian, the newest addition to House Ravenwatch.” Verandis appeared behind Ouro, and she glanced at him briefly but watched as Fennorian shook his head.

“Please, Verandis, I’m not ready yet to visit with…”

“Not to worry, she is like us.” The Count paused. “More or less.”

“ _More_ , I would think,” Ouro muttered half to herself but watched as the young man’s entire demeanor changed. Unease vanished as though she’d removed some petrifying mortal mask, and he stood up straighter then plopped down the papers and books back onto the desk. With that keen interest back in his eyes, he studied her.

“Really? I can hardly tell!” He sounded fascinated and came around the desk to get a closer look, and once up close, Ouro got a feel for just how tall the young Altmer scholar really was. “Eyes are green, not a single bit of…” He trailed off, and she stared right back, which really was almost straight up, into wide, curious eyes. They had been blue in life, she could tell, only the centers of his irises were tinged with the telltale vampiric red. He wasn’t very old, to begin with, and a baby vampire to boot.

“She’s a person, not a project, Fennorian.” Verandis gently chided his ward.

“My apologies!” Fennorian stepped back, aghast. “Please, do not take offense. I’ve met quite a few vampires now, and none were ever capable of masking their condition so well.” He fidgeted, brushing tiny bits of parchment off his shirt. “Forgive me, I haven’t even asked your name.”

“Ouro Aduen.” She gave a nod.

“One of Tesgrim’s,” Verandis added, and Ouro resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Fennorian, looking more surprised still, shook her hand with enthusiasm.

“A Blood Rider? It is a pleasure to meet you, truly. Now, I’ve heard there was an expedition of sorts about…” He paused briefly to recall. “…six decades ago, that the Riders were heavily involved in regarding the shocking discovery of ruins that had actually _never_ been explored before…”

“Our guest is running short on time, Fennorian, perhaps some other…”

“It’s fine.” Ouro gave Verandis a dismissive wave. “I have a few moments to spare.” The Count’s brows shot upward as he crossed his arms, a small smirk on his lips.

“Is that so?”

Ignoring him, she turned back to Fennorian. “Yes, I led that hellish little jaunt into Oblivion.” She was a collector, after all, and that incident had promised a great many interesting things for her to add to her collection.

“Did you? I have so many questions…” He stroked his chin. “Will you be visiting again? I would love the opportunity to discuss some things with you when you’ve got more time.”

“I…am not sure, truth be told.” She shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Verandis was somehow amusing himself at her expense. She could practically feel his eyes boring into her. “But, if our paths do cross again, I would be happy to discuss it.”

“Excellent.” Fennorian smiled, shaking her hand a second time. “It was a pleasure, Ouro Aduen, good journey to you.”

“Thank you.” She smiled again, genuinely, to even her own surprise, then left the room, pointedly avoiding making eye contact with Verandis.

“Well.” He chuckled, catching up with her. “That explains so much.”

“What’s his story?” It was better for everyone to let his comments go unaddressed.

“It’s not mine to tell any more than yours is.”

“Very well.” It wasn’t a point she could argue. Verandis was one of a very few select individuals who did know, and she preferred to keep it that way. It was dangerous information, after all, for her _and_ for those who knew.

* * *

How there was _this_ much correspondence after only being away for a few weeks, Ouro could not fathom. She had plenty of contacts and acquaintances, but very few that she would call _friends_. She’d never come back to such a pile of letters, messages, and packages before. Not that she could remember anyway.

Despite being late spring, the office was chilly, not that it mattered overmuch to her, but she built a fire, preferring the warmth it gave. It made her feel a little less…dead. Even in summer, Solitude could be chilly.

It had only been, what, six weeks at most? Ouro sat down at the cluttered desk and grabbed her ledger, flipping through it to its last entry. Oh. Nearly five months. Whoops. Time moved differently for those who didn’t need to think about it. Mortals counted every minute, those who’d lived for centuries measured it in decades. A day or a week, even a month, such spans were trivial. Though Ouro couldn’t deny having been acutely aware of each year that had passed during the last decade. Certain things stood out, like a Daedric Prince trying to merge his realm with Nirn. Or fucking dragons incinerating everything on the face of the continent, for instance. What was next?

It took a little while to sort her mail, but the process halted upon coming across _four_ different letters from that young, twitchy scholar, _Fennorian of House Ravenwatch_. She was surprised, of course, but somewhat concerned. Was the vampling _that_ interested in her prior exploits? Such enthusiasm was a little…disconcerting. Fortunately, her housekeeper always dated each item the day it arrived. Sighing, she opened the earliest one.

_Dear Ouro Aduen,_

_There is a matter of importance I must discuss with you at your earliest convenience. Not regarding your temple expedition. Please come to Castle Ravenwatch._

_Sincerely,_

_Fennorian of House Ravenwatch_

Ouro’s frown deepened. The note was dated a month after she’d left Rivenspire. The next one was dated a month after that. Apprehensive, she unsealed it and began to read.

_Dear Ouro Aduen,_

_I am uncertain you received my last correspondence, as you made no reply. In going through Verandis’s things, I had found where you receive letters. I hope you get this. It pains me to be the one to tell you, especially through a letter and not face to face as would be proper, that Verandis is gone. His loss is felt by us all, and I imagine you, too, will miss his friendship. I am the one writing to you because before he left, he asked that I do it, and to tell you that I have something for you from him. It is a letter, I believe, but as it is sealed and addressed to you, obviously, I do not know its contents. Please write or visit Castle Ravenwatch at your earliest convenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Fennorian of House Ravenwatch_

Verandis was gone? Well, that was unfortunate; he was her greatest asset in that corner of the world. There was no telling what became of his fledglings; she couldn’t be sure that in his absence, they would maintain their ridiculous oaths to not take blood from the unwilling. Vampires were vampires, and under the right circumstances, she believed any one of them could succumb to the hunger.

Well, on to the next letter. Oddly, the last two were dated within the previous fortnight. 

_Ouro Aduen,_

_As your residence is in the western portion of Skyrim, perhaps you are aware of the disturbances happening here. I’ve included below the location where I can be reached. I will write again if I change locations. Please contact me, it is a matter of utmost urgency._

_Fennorian of House Ravenwatch_

Less formal, certainly written in a rush, the tone did indeed seem desperate. As for the disturbances in the area, Ouro was woefully uninformed, having only just returned after so long an absence. Her concern, however, was increasing. The last letter was even more urgent still, having been delivered only four days ago.

_Ouro,_

_I am writing this after having been turned away by your housekeeper. I admit it was no small feat for me to venture into town, I did so well after dark when the fewest number of people would be about. After all, I am not so indistinguishable from the living as you are. I apologize for the multitude of correspondence you have from me, as I did not realize you have not returned home since last we met. I still carry the letter for you from Verandis. I’ve included a map indicating where you can find me. I think in this endeavor, I will very much require your help if you are willing to give it. Besides that, I cannot say more in writing._

_-Fennorian_

Ouro pulled out the second page, which bore a crudely drawn, but not unclear map. He was in a small, abandoned cabin well outside the city. She gathered his notes and put them into a satchel before quickly scanning the remaining mail, checking for anything else of importance. Nothing else seemed urgent, so it would wait.

Though she’d only met Fennorian for a few minutes, it did not seem likely that he was particularly proficient in protecting himself. Vamplings rarely were, especially if curtailed by an oath to drink only from the willing, and such people were hard to come by, especially those who didn’t want fed _and_ bed. He could be starving.

Feeling generous, she took two bottles of her emergency stock, adding them to the satchel. She scribbled a note for the housekeeper and departed into the darkness of Solitude.


	2. The Cabin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some information relating to the Greymoor chapter, so, possible spoilers.

Dim light flickered through the gaps around the roughhewn cabin door. Ouro could sense the vampire inside, hunched over a small candle flame for what warmth it might give off. His gasp was audible when he realized there was someone on the other side of the door. Yes, he was a young vampire, but his senses were keen enough already. A stool scraped against floorboards and clattered over.

“I know someone is out there!” Fennorian called. His voice shook only a little. “You would do well not to enter. I _am_ armed!” Ouro barely stifled her snort then dissolved into mist, passing through the cracks in and around the door and quickly rematerialized inside. The young Altmer was gripping his staff, pointing it at the door, but he visibly relaxed. “Ouro.” He puffed out a long breath.

“You’re looking a little rough around the edges, Fennorian.” A half-smile curled her lips. His eyes were much redder than the last time she saw him, dark circles beneath them, and his veins had darkened. On the table beside the candle was a flask, and she caught the faint scent of blood. She’d been wise to bring some of her stash. Clearly, he was all out.

“The last week has been…difficult.”

“I imagine so. Here, this will help.” Taking a bottle from her satchel, she offered it, and his eyes grew very round. “Drink up.”

“I cannot even begin to articulate my gratitude…” He practically clawed off the wax before yanking out the cork, lifting the bottle to his lips, and drinking deeply. Curiously, Ouro watched, looking up at him as his throat bobbed with each swallow. Fennorian coughed suddenly, though, and looked at her, clearing his throat. There was a small amount of blood gathered at one corner of his mouth, and it slowly dripped down. “Where…who…?” He started.

“It was humanely sourced, I assure you. Firstly, I wouldn’t give you something that went against your values. And secondly, even I find it distasteful to hang the unwilling upside down like a slain deer to bleed them out.”

“I appreciate your consideration…though, perhaps not the visual.” He almost smiled, and Ouro smirked to herself. Fennorian resumed consumption, eyes closed as he sated his thirst. It was always so overwhelming when they were young; the first few decades could be quite miserable. He did well, all things considered. Verandis had a way of making it easier for those he’d taken in.

When the bottle was empty, Fennorian wiped his mouth, looking a little abashed. “Thank you.” For a moment, he examined the bottle. “How…it’s warm, as though straight from the source.”

“An enchantment. I don’t care for cold blood.” She gave a small shrug.

“Brilliant.” He nodded appreciatively. “I may need such an enchantment on my own flask.”

“I’m sorry if it seemed like I was ignoring your correspondence, I only just returned to Solitude tonight.”

“No, no, I understand. Surely, you’re exhausted from travel, you didn’t have to come all this way tonight…”

“Yes, I did.” She chuckled. “You were starving, so it’s good that I came.”

“Well, I…” His voice trailed off. “Oh!” He grabbed his bag and rummaged until pulling out a slightly crumpled, but sealed letter, sobering considerably. “This is yours, from Verandis.”

“What happened to him?” Ouro took it, reading the instructions written on the outside, which indicated Fennorian was to be the one to hand-deliver it. Odd, but then…Verandis was odd.

“There was a very powerful, damaged dark artifact that threatened to forcefully turn a great many people into vampires. The only way to protect everyone was to take it to Coldharbour. Verandis went with it…a deal he made…” Fennorian turned his face away but not before Ouro saw the flash of pain across it. It had affected him deeply.

“I’m sorry for your loss. He cared a great deal for all of you.” Ouro idly peeled back the wax Ravenwatch seal, picking at it a little.

“I’m sorry, too.” He put his hand on her shoulder suddenly, and she looked up, surprised. “You must be upset since you were so close…”

“Close?” She blinked. He stared back at her, but she knew what he was thinking. “Erm…we worked on many projects together. He was a good man, but we weren’t really _friends_ , per se.”

“But I thought…” Looking suddenly mortified, Fennorian snapped his mouth shut, shifting uncomfortably. “Apologies.” His pale cheeks darkened ever so slightly, and Ouro wondered if he’d been especially prone to blushing in life. New vampires were always so interesting to her.

“That…it wasn’t…”

“No need to explain, please…” He cleared his throat and righted the stool before sitting down, awkwardly adjusting the stub of a candle. Ouro chewed the inside of her cheek. Why _was_ she explaining? With a gesture, she lit the room and warmed it.

There was another stool, and she sat down, unfolding the letter from Verandis, unsure what to expect in its contents.

_Ouro,_

_You must know, I’ve always appreciated and enjoyed our friendship. Or whatever you wanted to call it, since I know how you’re allergic to attachment. But I'm writing because I wanted to express how dear Fennorian is to me. He is my son in every way that matters. I trust the others implicitly, of course, to be encouraging, supportive guides. But I also believe you have great wisdom to impart on him._

Ouro gave an amused snort. Wisdom, ha! Having experience didn’t _always_ equate to being wise. She’d met a great many vampires older than she was that had all the wisdom of dirty socks. Fennorian glanced over at her, but she quickly turned her attention back to the letter.

_It is important to me that you help and teach him when you can. He is kindness itself despite having known very little of it before coming to us. I trust you to keep Fennorian safe and care for him. It is my final request; I know that is not a thing you can deny._

_You are not the cold, unfeeling creature you believe yourself to be, Ouro. Decrepit though you are!_

_Your friend always,_

_Verandis Ravenwatch_

What in fucking Oblivion was that supposed to mean? Ouro read the letter twice over, squirming internally. Verandis was a generous, caring person, but had often fancied himself to be all-knowing about a great many things. And now, she’d effectively inherited a baby vampire. Such responsibility was precisely why she’d never dared sire any progeny of her own. But, of course, the bastard knew what he was doing, hence pointing out that it was his final request to her. Indeed, she could not deny it, damn him.

“You didn’t read this?” She asked the Altmer, who shook his head at once.

“No, of course not.” Fennorian bristled. “I’m not in the habit of invading the privacy of others.” She held it out to him.

“Here.”

“No, I couldn’t. It’s a private letter meant for you…” He leaned a bit away from her, eyeing the parchment. Regardless of what was polite, he wanted to know what Verandis deemed important enough to say in a final letter.

“It says _P.S. Show this to Fennorian._ ”

“It _does_?” He sat forward again.

“No.” A small laugh escaped. “But it _is_ about you.” After another moment of hesitation, he finally took it and started reading. Fennorian’s face gave away a great deal about his thoughts, and it was fascinating to watch the emotional dance his features did as he made his way through the words. He looked touched, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips, but then as he reached the end, a small, uncertain frown knit his brow before peering at her over the top of the letter.

“I don’t know either.” Ouro shrugged. “But there you have it.”

Fennorian folded it, handing it back. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to me…”

“You will note that I came here to help you before ever reading this.” She offered. “If I didn’t want to be here, I would not be.”

“Well, I thank you for whatever assistance you’re willing to lend.” He was eyeing the empty bottle, still hungry. He needed more, she could see it in his skin, and so handed over the other bottle she’d brought.

“You must allow me to compensate you…”

“No. It is a gift. I have plenty more.” It was not difficult to amass wealth over the course of a few hundred years. The last thing she needed was any sort of repayment.

“But…”

“I will share it with you if it will make you feel better.” Before he could protest again, Ouro peeled off the wax and uncorked the bottle. She took a healthy swallow before passing it over to Fennorian, who conceded at last and drank. “So, what are these disturbances you mentioned?”

“Mm, yes.” He set the bottle on the table and started rifling through his pack once again. “It’s deeply concerning…”

“I assume it's naught to do with the mortal squabbles that incessantly plague this region?”

“No, it’s much bigger than that, more dangerous.” He withdrew a leather journal, the same as he’d been scribbling in the first time, she saw him and flipped it open. He licked his finger then started paging through, leaving a faint, reddish smudge on the paper.

“Good. There is no helping the disagreement and infighting of Skyrim.”

“Residing here, you know of the Draugrkin, I presume?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I followed them here from Bangkorai, where they’d been smuggling out the remains from a massive tomb. There is certainly necromancy afoot. Upon investigation, I learned the _goods_ they’d been moving, urns and ash mostly, were destined for a group I discovered. They’re witches, they call themselves the Icereach Coven.”

“Great.” Ouro grimaced and made an unhappy sound. “Reachmen. Perfect. How do you know so much about them already?”

“I…I’m ashamed to admit it, but I was captured for a short while.” He started fidgeting with the candle again. “Another captive and I managed to get out, but I heard things. They’re smart, and they’re organized. There is a great deal going on that I have yet to gather any information on. But…the remains that they’d stolen…” He paused, taking a breath and exhaling slowly. “They were the ashes and bones of the Gray Host.”

“Bullshit.” She just had to do it, didn’t she? She just _had_ to ask what was next. So, _this_ was what was next. Some lunatics were going to try to resurrect an army of vampires and lycanthropes and countless other undead—just another day in Tamriel.

“I wish it was, truly.” Fennorian shook his head. “But I made certain.” Ouro snatched up the bottle and drank, wishing it was one of the alcohol-laced ones.

“The Riders will need to know, Tesgrim…” Her mind was racing. If they’d gotten so far as smuggling the remains of that vile army, who knows what else they’d already accomplished. Fennorian took the bottle.

“We need more information first.”

“Are you the _only_ one on this? Or doesn’t the Ravenwatch know yet?” Did Tesgrim know already? He was always well-informed, but she’d been traipsing about Tamriel for half a year with her head up her own backside apparently.

“No, I’m not here by myself. Others have come and are working to gather more evidence. Though I cannot say for sure if they’ve reached out to the Riders yet. There is vampiric involvement in the coven’s work already. If that information spreads, I’m not sure how welcome Ravenwatch or the Riders will be.”

“Because the aid of vampires has been so readily welcomed and accepted elsewhere? We’re universally hated everywhere as a rule, whether feeding on the unwilling or not.”

“That is a fair point.” Fennorian sat back, arms folded, but he tapped his fingers on his chin as he thought.

Ouro shook her head, still in disbelief. “I’d never have thought Reach witches would have the power to bring back an army. I suppose if their numbers are growing and they’re as organized as you say, it might be possible…”

“I need more knowledge on the reach magic to better understand and perhaps get some clue as to what they’re doing.” He fished out a pen and ink from his pack and started making notes.

“Are you suggesting we capture a Reach witch? In my experience, even with torture, they are challenging to extract information from.” Gods, what an ordeal it would be if that’s what he wanted. She braced herself, but he looked up, a little concerned.

“Torture?” As someone who refused to drink blood from the unwilling, it was no surprise torture was equally, if not more, abhorrent to him.

“They were taking children from a village to use for parts for their totems.”

“Though there are alchemical means of _encouraging_ honesty, your actions were just. Still, it would be fascinating to talk to one of them.” Fennorian jotted something else down, and her apprehension grew.

“If you find one, have at it. I want no part of that. Insane old swamp witches and…” An idea came shining into her mind, and she smiled.

“What is it?” He was eager.

“I can’t get you a Reach witch, but perhaps the next best thing. I know a Clever Woman.” Ouro had known her a very long time. Ancient and knowledgeable about the old ways, visiting Old Mjolen ought to have been the first thing she thought of.

“And she’s local?”

“She’s near Morthal, if we leave now, we could get there by mid-day.” Ouro rose, ready to go at once, but Fennorian hesitated, glancing anxiously at the door. “Oh, come on, I’m scarier than anything we might run into out there.”

“You haven’t seen one of their storms.” The dire look on the young scholar’s face was enough to make her sit back down.

“What storms?”

“Swirling, arcane storms that they can summon. The one I saw didn’t reach completion, I thought perhaps it was a test of some sort, but I got the feeling they will try again on larger scales. Without knowing the effects of being caught in one, I feel it would be…unwise to venture out at night.”

“Then let’s go back to Solitude.”

“I…I am sorry.” Fennorian looked down at his lap. “I’m still uncomfortable with so densely populated an area…I was desperate when I delivered that last letter to your residence, and I went despite my hunger. It was…I’m just not ready yet.”

Ouro watched him for a long moment. She’d seen every kind of vampire there was at every stage of their condition. He was like a fledgling bird, pushed from the nest. He couldn’t fly very well yet but flapped his wings well enough to get by. Fennorian hadn’t chosen to become this any more than she had, however different the circumstances. His turning was likely violent, and no doubt that even with Verandis’s guidance, that violation haunted him still.

“Alright.” Her voice softened. “We will stay here until daybreak.” He was not a Rider; he was not trained to fight; he’d seen no battles. He hadn’t spent centuries with a blade in his hand. Fennorian was a scholar, and for all his knowledge, he was still new to the world.

“Thank you for understanding. You’re probably more accustomed to fighters, and I am no warrior…” His gratitude was plain on his face.

“You don’t need to be, Fenn.” Ouro patted his shoulder but paused. “Or do you prefer Fennorian?” She took the bottle once more, lifting it to drink.

He gave a small shrug. “Those who I’m familiar with call me Fenn, and we’ll be plenty familiar, I imagine, after spending the night together, so you can…”

Ouro inhaled mid-drink and coughed, dropping the bottle, which Fenn deftly caught amidst a slew of apologies.

“That…that’s plainly _not_ what I…surely, you don’t think…”

“I don’t.” She wheezed, clearing her throat.

“I didn’t mean to shock you.” He looked sufficiently embarrassed, and Ouro shook her head, thumping her fist on her chest, and once the air passage was clear, she spoke again.

“You didn't, don't worry.” She silently cursed Verandis's name once more. “So, what were all those questions you wanted to ask me about that expedition?”


	3. Old Mjolen

The night before, there had been no reason to bring another horse. The plan had been to bring blood, see what Fennorian needed, retrieve the letter, and be done. Ouro wasn’t a fortune-teller; she couldn’t have known there’d be a journey involved in this. So, now, she’d been riding silently for some hours with a lanky young Altmer wedged against her backside. Objectively, she didn’t mind that at all, subjectively, she wasn’t so sure. It could have been worse, though, except for the fact that all her interesting stories seemed to have vanished from memory as she reached for something, _anything_ to distract from the quiet. The discussion consisted mostly of Fennorian thinking aloud, formulating theories, and organizing his thoughts while she periodically made sounds of acknowledgment.

He then broached a topic that required her to actively participate.

“I’ve been thinking about your letter from Verandis.” His tone was cautious.

“Have you?” She’d thought about it, too—a lot. Fenn couldn’t see the apprehension on her face, at least. “What about it?”

“Well, while I’m the first to admit that I’m of little use in most combat situations aside from the healing I can provide, I would not want for you to have gotten the wrong impression from his request.”

“What impression was that?” The night before, he’d barely taken a breath between his questions and commentary. Was this why he’d been so quiet? Concerned that she might think badly of him, somehow?

“The impression that I _require_ looking after.” Fenn shifted uncomfortably behind her.

“You obviously don’t.”

“Oh.” He seemed relieved and surprised. “Well…good.”

“Why are you so worried about what I think?” After all, she was a strange woman he barely knew. Not to mention that Ouro wasn’t in the habit of expending so much energy for a stranger. Perhaps she was behaving just as strangely as he was.

“Well, you’re an interesting person who has had an interesting life.”

Ouro laughed. “We’ve talked about _one_ entire thing that I’ve done.”

“I think it’s safe to extrapolate that the expedition you led sixty years ago was not the only interesting thing you’ve done.” He was smiling a little when she looked up over her shoulder at him, but his brow furrowed as he watched the road ahead. “Hm, we may need to find a narrow place to cross.”

They were nearly upon a creek cascading noisily from the hills with the springtime melt. Usually, it was a meandering stream, but as the days grew warmer, the banks had swelled and overflowed.

“Hm? No, we’re fine, hold on tight.” She tugged a little at the reins.

“What? You’re going to _jump_ it? I may not be helpful in a fight, but I _am_ an adequate horseman, and that doesn’t appear at all feasible…”

“Just hold on.”

“Look how fast it’s rushing.”

“I’m a Blood Rider, Fenn, and Brazzelac is nearly as old as I am. Hold on or fall off, the choice is yours.” She spurred the horse into motion, and Fennorian grabbed Ouro around the waist. His arms almost seemed long enough to go around her twice.

Brazz lurched into motion and was in a full gallop by the time they reached the creek’s edge. He leapt and glided over with the ease it might take to hop a simple ditch before landing and going back to a trot.

“You see?” Ouro smirked. Fenn still clung to her middle, and he swallowed audibly. “Are you alright?” She patted his arm gently.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Of course.” Grip loosening, he adjusted himself a bit in the saddle.

“Good. We’re nearly there.”

The tiny, ramshackle cabin that Mjolen called home came into view, and Brazz trudged through the shallows that practically surrounded the little hillock. As they drew closer, the hunched figure of the ancient Clever Woman emerged, squinting into the sunlight to see who was coming.

“Oh! Ouro, child!” She gave a laugh. “It’s been more than a year!”

“Child?” Fenn murmured.

“She’s a very old woman, and I’ve looked like a reasonably young woman for more than six centuries,” Ouro muttered back to him.

“ _Six?_ ” Came his whisper of disbelief, mostly to himself, as Ouro swung her leg deftly over Brazzelac’s head and hopped off the horse, leaving Fenn to dismount as he wished. She opened her arms, smiling brightly.

“Mjolen! It _has_ been too long; I am so deeply sorry.” She hugged the old woman tightly, who thumped her on the back, giving a squeeze.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got a batch that’ll knock you flat.” Mjolen stepped back, grinning, and all the lines in her face grinned, too.

“You know that I can never turn you down.”

“Good, and…what do we have here?” The old woman stepped to the side to look around Ouro at Fennorian as he approached. “My, my, Ouro, the only male company I ever see you with are Altmer. I think you have a type.”

“I do not have a _type_.” Ouro crossed her arms and obstinately looked anywhere but at Fenn.

“Whatever you say, dear.” Mjolen patted her arm. Ouro grit her teeth. “And you, young man, what brings you out so far from the civilized?”

“I am Fennorian, of House Ravenwatch…”

“ _Another_ Ravenwatch?” Mjolen arched a brow at Ouro, who bit her cheek to keep her retort buttoned up. “Sorry, my boy, go on.”

“Ouro brought me to you because I have questions about Reach magic.” He was standing very straight. Whether that was his posture or the result of hours in the saddle, who knew.

“And just what have you to do with Reach magic, hm?” The old woman narrowed her eyes at Fennorian, who, to Ouro’s surprise, did not waver. He was no fighter but had balls enough. Most everyone was terrified of Old Mjolen.

“There are some very disconcerting disturbances happening throughout the western holds, which I believe are the result of a coven of Reach witches.” He shifted his pack off one shoulder, throwing back the flap, seeking his notes, no doubt.

“Something _has_ seemed amiss. Come, I’ll answer your questions, but have something to eat first. I’ve got fresh bottles.” Mjolen was no fool. She didn’t fear Ouro or any vampire who visited with her, but she fed them beforehand just to be safe. It was under a thin guise of hospitality, but one did not become a Clever Woman without having a healthy respect for the things that went bump in the night. Or, in their case, broad daylight.

“Yes, of course, thank you.” Fenn smiled politely. It was curious, Ouro thought, that Fennorian did not suffer from weakening in sunlight as many of the vampires did. Most others, in fact. The one common denominator amongst the Blood Riders was the ability to survive the sun. With such a skill, it was a wonder Verandis had gotten to Fenn before Tesgrim did.

They sat by the fire as Mjolen shuffled into her cabin, returning a moment later with two sealed bottles made of dark glass.

“Hm, Ravenwatch…” She pursed her lips. “Not this one, then.” Setting down one of the bottles, she returned to the fire, sitting on a small rickety stool. The gesture had not gone unnoticed by Fenn. “Here.” Ouro took the bottle from Mjolen and started unsealing it. “You’re quite young, Fennorian of House Ravenwatch, even for an Altmer, let alone a vampire.”

“Ah, yes…I’m only a junior member of House Ravenwatch, but I strive to truly earn my place amongst them. We are a family, after all.” It was evident that he was itching to ask his questions.

Ouro uncorked the bottle of blood and put it to her lips, taking a deep swallow. It was definitely one of the more potent concoctions Mjolen had come up with, but she made no indication of the delightful burn it gave or the mule-kick it had at the end.

“It was willingly donated.” She assured Fennorian, handing it to him. He nodded appreciatively and, just as she had, took a plentiful swallow. His eyes widened and started watering as he coughed, and Ouro smirked.

“That…there’s…I’ve never…” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I’ve never had blood laced with spirits before.” Blinking, he handed the bottle back, and Mjolen cackled.

“It’ll warm you to the core, boy. You’ll almost feel alive!”

“Ahem. It’s certainly interesting…unexpected. But not bad, thank you for sharing.” He cleared his throat again.

“Well, since I’ve made the necessary introductions, I imagine I’m not needed here for the rest.” Ouro rose to her feet. “I’ve got to make contact with the Riders about these disturbances. Fenn, if you need anything, I will help. You know where to find me.”

“Ah, you never can stay long, can you? But come back in less than a year, next time.” Mjolen smiled, and Ouro headed to where Brazzelac was grazing quietly. She heard the conversation go on behind her, though. “You are lucky to have garnered such a friend, young man.”

“She’s merely fulfilling an obligation…” Fenn’s voice was quiet.

“Listen here, boy, Ouro Aduen is beholden to no one, no matter the circumstances or request. Her friendship is a rare thing, and you ought…”

The rest of Mjolen’s speech was lost on the wind as Ouro rode away, smiling a little to herself. She did like Fennorian, even if she didn’t know precisely why. If he was right and some fool had gotten it into his head to try and raise the Gray Host, then their problems were much bigger than she wanted to even think about, and certainly, their paths would be crossing again. However, until then, she had to take what precautions she could: sound the alarm, make ready, and all that.

Once far enough from Mjolen’s cabin to be out of sight and earshot, Ouro stopped Brazz, checked for anyone possibly milling about, then extended her hand in front of her. With a sound like rushing wind, a swirl of red mist appeared, and inside of it was a reflective, rippling surface like water in sunlight. As she urged Brazzelac through it, her ears filled with the shrieking such a rip in reality always caused.

It led to a vast undercroft, and the portal closed behind her with a hiss and a low rumble. To the left were several stalls with other horses in them, and they nickered in delight—Brazz’s brothers and sisters. Ouro dismounted and led him to where the groom was portioning out feed.

“Good day to you, Ouro.” The small Breton man greeted with a smile. He was one of many humans in Tesgrim’s employ. Those brave enough to take on such jobs always found that their families were very well fed and housed. Such servants were never used to feed upon.

“Hello, Girard.” She handed over the reins. “I probably won’t be terribly long, but he could use a good rubdown and some of that special grain you give them.”

“Yes, of course. The others are pleased already to see him. Just send word when you’re on your way out, and I’ll have him ready.”

It was a serpentine series of interconnected caves, deep beneath Cyrodiil, where the madness that was the Three-Banners-War still raged on. Ouro climbed a winding set of stone stairs, passing through corridors and various chambers until reaching Tesgrim’s quarters. As she entered, her eyes fell to his hulking form, bent over a naked, beautiful young woman who was sprawled out on the table as he fed. Tesgrim had no humanoid form, or perhaps he’d chosen never to take it. Whatever the case, Ouro only knew him in this _vampire lord_ form. A term she hated almost as much as he did.

His red eyes turned to her at once as he disengaged from his meal. The girl looked up, startled, perhaps she was expecting more. Likely, she would be getting more once Ouro was gone again. She did her best not to scowl.

“Get out.” His booming voice echoed off the walls, and the girl hurled herself off the table, snatched up a robe, and disappeared through another door. “Apologies, Ouro.” He wiped the blood from his mouth as she fixed him with a level stare.

“I haven’t cared what or who you do in centuries. At least this one wasn’t screaming for her life.” She couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes, unfortunately.

“Word arrived that _your_ lover seems to have vanished and is presumed dead.” Tesgrim folded his massive arms, coming around the table. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of refuting the subtle inquiry. “And also, one of his little proteges has been writing to you frequently?”

“Seems I need a new housekeeper. Pity. I liked this one.” What he could have possibly offered the old woman to get her to spy on Ouro, she had no idea. “If you’re done behaving like a petulant child, I have news.” Tesgrim chuckled and motioned for her to go on. “There is something going on the Western Holds. Reach witches working with vampires, apparently. The theory is that they are attempting to bring back the Gray Host.”

“Ravenwatch is on it, why should I waste my resources?”

“You _knew_? And you didn’t think to mention that the place I made my home has a Reach witch infestation?” Anger bubbled up.

“I had an inkling.” He shrugged. “Bring sufficient evidence, and you can take everyone you need. Soren is around, I’m sure he’d like to hear of this. If that’s all, I’d like to continue my meal.”

Ouro rolled her eyes at him again and turned without comment, exiting and slamming the door behind her. The servant stationed outside flinched under her glare.

“Where is Soren?”

“The arboretum, madam.” His voice shook. She’d never seen him before, so he must have been new. The new ones were always very jumpy.

The arboretum was in one of the caves closer to the surface. At some point in history, parts of the roof had collapsed and allowed sunlight to stream in. Over time, the cave was made into gardens, filled with trees, flowers, and shrubs from all over Tamriel.

Soren was sitting in the sun on a patch of grass, his eyes closed, and as the light shone brightly on his pale skin, he drank in the heat. Not unlike a lizard on a hot rock. Ouro gave a snort of amusement at the thought, and his eyes opened at once. Soren was Second Rider, so when she was off, flitting about the continent, he was in charge and doled out Tesgrim’s orders.

“Amusing yourself at my expense?” He closed his eyes again. Soren was Altmer, which was likely what prompted Mjolen’s comments earlier, though Ouro had never been involved with him in such a way. She made a point to adhere to the old adage of not shitting where one eats. “I presume you’re well-rested?”

Ouro sat beside him in the sun. “I was at home for all of an hour before I had to leave again. I haven’t slept. There is no peace to be had for me. You know about Verandis?”

“Yes.” Somehow everyone knew before she did.

“Well, I suppose I’m helping one of his _children_ with the latest and greatest catastrophe in Tamriel.” She sighed. The sun did feel good.

“What’s his name?” The tiniest of smirks twitched on Soren’s lips. She shot him a dirty look that he didn’t see. He didn’t have to, though; he knew her better than anyone else, having been her Second for the last three hundred years.

“Fennorian.”

Soren opened one eye. “Another Altmer?”

“Shut up. He’s practically a child. He’s a scholar and not much of a fighter. I imagine he will need all the help he can get. _Especially_ if there is any merit to this Gray Host business.”

“Mmhm.” Soren laid back in the grass, arms folded behind his head, looking smug. A second later he sat bolt upright. “ _Gray Host_?”

“Oh, so _now_ I've got your attention?”


	4. Blackreach

“Another one of their damn bloodsuckers! I’ve got _no_ problem sending you back to Oblivion with your friends, leech!” Lyris Titanborn was a formidable opponent, even for Ouro, who sighed quietly as the half-giant Nord barreled toward her. It was an honest mistake; all she’d seen was a hooded person materialize from a suspicious red cloud. That was enough for most anyone to assume _that-vampire-is-about-to-eat-me_.

“No! Stop! Lyris, wait!” Fennorian came sprinting out from behind a massive stalactite. “Stop! She’s…” But the battle axe came down at a hard angle. However, it merely passed through Ouro with a swirl of red mist, embedding into the hard dirt. “…with me.”

“What?” Lyris snapped then looked over at Fenn, who was a little breathless, then turned to Ouro, frowning before wrenching the axe up with a grunt. “Sorry.” She muttered. “I didn’t know. Another Ravenwatch?”

“Please. They wish.” Ouro scoffed, but smiled, pushing back her hood.

“This is Ouro Aduen; she’s a Blood Rider, actually.” Fenn introduced.

“I know that name, and I thought the Riders were all gone.” Lyris crossed her arms, likely trying to place just where she’d heard Ouro’s name.

“We just like people to think that.” Ouro gave a small shrug. “I know you, too, of course. Who doesn’t?”

“Your arrival is _most_ welcome.” Fennorian stepped up beside her. She shook her head at him a little, though, tsking in disbelief.

“I’m gone for a mere _seven_ days and—”

“Twelve days.”

“… _twelve_ days, and I come back to the queen having been assassinated and you traipsing about Blackreach.” It had been a while since her last visit to Blackreach. There certainly had not been a town there the last time she’d seen it. The crude Nord structures were a mar on the cavern’s natural, albeit terrifying, beauty. “ _And_ you’ve been stabbed.” Ouro poked Fenn through the visible knife hole in his leathers, making him flinch.

“We have a _lot_ to discuss.” He let out a breath.

“Seems so.” She pulled a sealed letter from her bag. “This is yours. Hugs and kisses, love Gwendis.”

“What?” The look of confusion on his face nearly cost Ouro her composure.

“Not really, but she’ll enjoy hearing what your face did.”

“Charming.” He shot her a wry glance and snatched the letter from her hand, turning it over. “Updates?”

“I assume so.” She shrugged.

“Seems you’re in good hands, Fenn. I’ve got to get topside again. Svana is going to need all the help she can get.” Lyris continuously scanned the immediate vicinity, and for good reason. These caverns were crawling with everything from cattle-sized insects, wandering Dwemer constructs, to the damned Falmer themselves. Ouro was a reasonable woman, logical…but there was just something about eyeless, dangerous creatures that unsettled her.

“It’s a pity the assassin didn’t get Svana’s father instead. The western holds could use a good, levelheaded ruler.” She’d met Svargrim; he'd been a suspicious, bullheaded, old twat back then, and was even worse now.

“Isn’t that treason?” Lyris smirked.

Ouro shrugged one shoulder. “When a simple truth is considered treason, it’s time for some treason, don’t you think?”

“I suppose I can get behind that. I’d be a hypocrite not to, considering my history.” The towering Nord scratched her chin a little, looking almost wistful.

“ _You_ thought she was going to cleave me in half with that axe, didn’t you?” Ouro smirked at Fenn as they picked their way through the rocky cavern. Lyris had departed in some other direction. She was more than capable of handling herself.

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “One never knows quite what’s going to happen when Lyris attacks.”

“That’s fair, I wouldn’t want to be caught by her unawares.”

“Nor I.” Fenn chuckled. “I have so much to tell you, Ouro. I was going to write as soon as I’d gotten settled in.”

“Settled in where? _Here_?” She gestured around them. “Not very hospitable…”

“In Dusktown. I managed to acquire some intelligence whilst prowling around in search of information about the queen’s assassin. There is a lodging currently unoccupied. I thought I might rent it to have a private, not to mention safe, place to do my work.” He was bright-eyed and excited. The invigorating anticipation of the unknown, something Ouro had not experienced in an exceptionally long time. It was almost contagious…almost. This was all more than a little unusual for her. Objectively, it was a bit of shock to find herself in the young mer’s presence once again. It was easy enough to rationalize it away, though.

With a wandering mind, her feet, too, seemed to drift, and she rolled her ankle at the edge of a large hole. Fenn grabbed her by the arm, easily yanking her upright. He was a skinny elf, but still a great deal bigger than her. Were she inclined to blush, her cheeks might have been red just then. If her intent was to appear wise and aware, dangerous even, she was not doing a very good job.

Ouro cleared her throat, nodding her thanks to Fenn. This was what Verandis wanted. And besides, Fennorian could handle a quick scrap if the need arose, but otherwise was entirely a scholar. He’d been knifed once already, someone _ought_ to look out for him, so why not her? He was the brains of the operation, after all. There was no way the impending and inevitable catastrophe would come to any not-devastating conclusion without a brilliant, creative mind fueling the fires of defense.

It wasn’t what anyone had implied either, she did _not_ have a _type_. Mjolen’s comment still fried her gizzard, a fact which undoubtedly would amuse the old crone to no end.

“I doubt they’ll be overly enthused to rent space out to a vampire.” Ouro set her thoughts aside, instead, paying attention to where she was going, having nearly stepped into a crevasse once already.

“Yes, that thought had crossed my mind, and so I think I have to ask yet another favor of you. That is, if you’re willing, of course. I don’t want to make assumptions or seem like I’m taking advantage of the generosity you’ve already shown me…”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She smiled. “We’ll get your lodgings squared away, then you can tell me all about what you’ve been doing for the last seven or twelve days.”

“Ha!” Fennorian laughed outright. “Is your judgement of time really that abysmal?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s gotten a bit worse, perhaps, the last couple centuries or so.” It wasn’t the first time someone had pointed out her inattentiveness to temporal matters. “When you have something finite, you pay much closer attention to how much of that thing gets used, how much you have left, whether or not there is a way to get more. When there is an overabundance of that thing or an endless supply, even…it is easy to let it slide out of mind to think about other things.”

“Is that common amongst our kind?”

“Who can say? Everyone is different. I suppose perhaps I am susceptible to it even more than most since I…” Ouro snapped her mouth shut. How had he done that? She’d never _ever_ nearly slipped up like that.

“Since you what?”

“Nothing.” She waved it away as though it really was nothing. They’d reached the outskirts of the town, and she nodded toward it. “Where is this lodging?”

“Oh, right. It’s in the southern part of the town, I _think_ the innkeeper…or barkeep…whatever he is, Fingrit, owns it. If not, he knows who does.” Fenn handed her a small pouch of gold. “Let me know if that isn’t enough.”

“Alright. Wait here, I suppose.”

Ouro trudged into the town, getting a few strange glances, but no one said anything to her. Like most Nords in the western holds, none of them looked as though they were open to speaking with her. After more uncomfortable wandering, she managed to locate the tavern. It was called the Bottomless Pit, and she chuckled inwardly.

“Another stranger!” The man she assumed was the owner smiled as she entered. “A _stranger_ stranger than the handful we get. What can I do for you?”

“You’re Fingrit?”

“Yes.”

“The vacant place up the hill, do you own it?”

“No, but I do manage it for the owner. Are you…interested in renting it?” The look on his face said he was hoping she’d tell him no.

“Yes. What is the rate?” Ouro stared at him, expectantly as he blustered for a short moment.

“Well, I…it isn’t…it’s quite expensive, I would think…”

“Your idea of expensive and my idea of expensive might be a good deal different. Just tell me how much.”

“A hundred gold a week.” He finally blurted.

“How about a hundred and fifty a week, and no one comes to bother us?” An amused smirk crossed her lips.

“Done.” He blinked, completely taken aback. It was apparent that he was overcharging, but it didn’t matter. It would buy Fenn the privacy he was looking for. “But…what do you mean _us?_ ”

“Me and my companion. He and I would prefer to be… _undisturbed_.” Ouro gave him a look full of all kinds of implications. “So, if you notice a tall, lanky fellow roaming about the area, pay him no mind.” Fingrit’s eyes were wide, but he understood. She’d have said just about anything to keep people away from the cabin.

“Yes…yes, of course. And may I have your name?”

“If I give you fifty more gold right now, will my name matter?”

“Not in the slightest, madam.” Still looking mystified, he happily accepted the one hundred gold from Fenn’s purse, then the extra hundred that she counted out from her own. “Pleasure doing business with you.” The coins jangled noisily into his pocket, and Fingrit took a key off the ring on his hip, handing it over.

“Thanks very much, Fingrit.” With a sly smile and a wink that made him infinitely more uncomfortable, Ouro left the tavern, chuckling to herself.

“ _Ouro_.” Hissed a boulder as she passed, or rather, Fennorian, who was crouched behind it. He’d crept his way into town without being noticed.

“Come out from there.” She grabbed his sleeve, tugging him to his feet. “If anyone notices you skulking behind rocks, it will get a lot more attention than a simple stranger who looks like he has nothing to hide.”

“We have everything to hide.”

“And more.” Ouro grinned, then handed back his coin pouch.

Fenn weighed it in his hand, frowning a little. “Not much is missing, how much was it?”

“A hundred a week.” She started up the hill, giving him no option but to follow.

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“You bribed him with your own gold, too, didn’t you?”

“You really are clever, aren’t you?” She laughed, navigating the rocky path. “I gave him fifty more to keep anyone from disturbing the place, and another fifty instead of my name.”

“Two hundred gold, then, to pretend a strange Altmer isn’t staying in the place.” Fenn shook his head.

“Well…” Ouro debated how much to tell him.

“Well, what?”

“I said _we_ and implied some things.” She pursed her lips. “Come to think of it, depending on the locals’ level of depravity, that might make them lurk around even more to listen.”

“What?”

“I winked very lewdly. So…I imagine you will have all the peace and quiet you need. And perhaps the occasional prowler or peeping tom.” She gave a shrug, and they came to the cabin. It was a comfortable size, judging from the outside. “Here.” Ouro stuck the key in his hand, and Fenn unlocked the door. Stepping inside, it was quite dark, for obvious reasons, and smelled a little dank, but earthy. She made a small gesture, and the few candles that were in the place ignited, casting a dim but warm glow on the space. There was what could, conceivably, be a kitchen area with counters. There were some benches by the door, a cabinet, even pictures on the walls. It seemed largely empty, otherwise. Right up the middle, though, stairs led to the second level.

“Not bad. Plenty of room to work, I think.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s satisfactory.” Curious, Ouro went up the steps to see what other accommodations the little cabin offered. There was a wardrobe at the top, a small table, chairs, various bits of clutter. At the back was a bed as well as other small cabinets and tables. Had there been more than one place to sleep, she might have considered staying. There was a lot of exploration that needed to be done in those caverns, after all. They stretched beneath the whole of Skyrim, which would be very advantageous to whoever sought to dominate the land.

“Quite cozy, really.” Fenn murmured to himself when he reached the top of the stairs, moving by her. He started opening all the cupboards and drawers, muttering here and there. “It’s nice. I like it. A little rough, but…nice.”

“Excellent. I’m off, then.” Ouro went downstairs again, but he followed.

“To a pressing appointment with some skittering nightmare?”

“Not yet. I’ve got my own lodgings to sort out. You’ll be sending for supplies, I trust?” She reached for the door handle.

“Well, that’s a bit silly, isn’t it?”

“What’s silly about supplies?” Ouro frowned.

“No, this cabin is plenty big enough…” He gestured around them, eyes moving to the sparse furniture. “Besides. You paid for it in part.”

She smiled though and patted his arm. “We are strangers, Fennorian, and there is nowhere else to sleep here. I will find lodging elsewhere.”

“Respectfully, I disagree. Verandis trusted you, so, I do as well.”

“You really think it’s appropriate?” She scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I might not be entirely confident yet in my restraint when it comes to blood, but I’m certainly capable of controlling myself around beautiful women if _that’s_ your concern.” He laughed aloud as though it was the most preposterous suggestion anyone could ever make. Ouro looked down, lest he see the surprise on her face. She’d been called many things, _beautiful_ was almost never one of them. Though perhaps he didn’t prefer women, that would definitely nip matters in the bud. _Not_ that there were matters requiring bud nipping to begin with.

“You’re adamant about this?” She asked, meeting his gaze again.

“I am. We’re adults. And well, you’re an adult more than thirty times over, so…”

Ouro rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She let out a sigh and muttered. “I feel like I’ve _read_ this book.”

“What book?” Damn his vampire hearing.

“Not one you ever cracked open the cover of. I suppose we ought to gather our things. I’ll set my bedroll up down here somewhere.” This was ridiculous.

“I couldn’t possibly let you…” Fenn halted when she pinned him with a pointed look. Whatever his sensibilities, she would not be subjected to foolish, gallant gestures. “That sounds fine.”

“I thought as much.”


	5. Strange Bedfellows

Ouro and Fenn stood on a high ledge at the eastern side of the cavern. The whole of Dusktown was visible in all its shanty glory. A little reconnaissance the day before had indicated that the Falmer were more concentrated on this side, but today they were strangely absent. Neither of them was particularly interested in a scuffle with those creatures just yet, so the unexplained disappearance was a welcome one. Besides a few lapdog sized bugs, they’d encountered no trouble. Something that likely would change before too long.

“You should have seen this place before they built that eyesore.” Ouro mused, letting out a somewhat disappointed sigh. She wasn’t surprised that the Nords had come down here to mine. These caverns were a veritable cornucopia of resources, many of which she’d wager no one living had ever encountered before.

“It must have been breathtaking. I do wish I could have seen it.” Fenn stood at her side, arms crossed, one hand stroking his chin. “So…you’re familiar with these caverns?”

“This one, yes. Not so familiar that I know my way around, but I’ve been here. I had no cause at the time to venture very far.” Beside her was an enormous geode, cracked open by who knows what. The Dwemer probably. She had several small ones in her collection that looked similar, but they were no bigger than the palm of her hand. Her fingers ran over the smooth facets of one crystal as she admired the glinting violet glow it gave off. How many secrets, how much unlocked knowledge was buried down here?

“What you’re saying, then, is that there _are_ indeed things that you, with all your _copious_ years and experiences, have _not_ seen?” Fenn smirked when she gave him a dirty look, but Ouro couldn’t hide her amusement entirely. He’d been prodding her about her age since the night before.

“I never said that I’ve seen _everything_ there is to see.” She turned back to the cavern. “I’ve never been to Akavir, for instance.”

“Ohh…” His brows arched high. “Now, that _would_ be interesting.” Vampire or not, were Fenn to be set loose in the ruins of some temple on a distant continent, his heart would likely burst.

“Well, if I ever go, you’re welcome to come along. I’m sure the rest of the Ravenwatch would be mighty envious of such an adventure.” Ouro moved along the ledge, hopping down, and making her way to the bottom of the cavern, following what could almost have passed as a trail. The miners of Dusktown had roamed around a goodly portion of this cavern, which was evident by the crude wooden bridges that spanned cracks too big to jump.

“Dwemer.” Fennorian breathed in awe as they approached a raised walkway. To have seen this place at the height of Dwemer society would have truly been a thing to behold.

“Oh, yes. I don’t know very much about what lies ahead, but I do know for a fact that this was absolutely their realm.” A tremor of excitement ran through her. It was so very rare for her to stand before an unknown, whether it be a place or people. Her collection was definitely in need of new pieces. Perhaps this little trip would benefit her twofold.

“I don’t think I brought enough notebooks.” He muttered, mostly to himself.

The cavern narrowed in width but not height as they made their way farther east. There was more crumbling Dwemer architecture, and parts of walkways that soared above. Just how much more had the dwarves built inside the stone walls? Entire cities, probably.

“Draugrkin,” Ouro whispered to Fenn. Two were getting close, and they slipped into the shadows, pressing themselves into a dark crevice until the raiders had passed. Moving quickly, they scaled another walkway and darted along the rest of the massive passage. Through another Dwemer archway, they found themselves on a bridge with two possible paths.

“The sheer _size_ of these mushrooms!” Fenn murmured. “And bioluminescent as well…if I could get a sample or two…no. We _must_ stay on track. We’re here for a _reason_.” He was scolding himself, and Ouro let him have at it. She was nearly as tempted as he was to stray off course.

“Well…left, or right?” She finally asked, interrupting his little inner conflict.

“I…I haven’t the foggiest…” Fenn blinked as they both peered from one direction to the other.

“To the right looks like an uphill climb, left looks more…open.” She pondered.

“Compromise. _If_ we aren’t killed by whatever we find down the left, we can come back and go up the right? Sound fair?”

“Your special brand of optimism leaves much to be desired.” She took a deep breath. “As good a solution as any at this point. Onward.”

Ouro took two steps before a bolt of ice hit her in the back of the shoulder. She lurched forward, rolling neatly back to her feet just as a ragged, ululating shriek echoed through the hollow. Whirling, she saw the culprit, hovering over the water.

“Fucking nereid!” She rubbed her shoulder as it began to ache. It wasn’t the right side, at least.

“Where?” Fenn turned in search of it, and another bolt came, narrowly missing his head as he dove downward. “Oh, _there_.”

Ouro flung a tether of writhing black and red smoke at the nereid, and the creature dodged it at first, but the second attempt got her. It shrieked, hurling blasts of ice and water at Ouro, to no avail. They diverted as though striking an unseen shield. Once within range, the nereid took a swipe at her face, and as Ouro evaded, she caught a kick to the middle. With a snarl, Ouro pulled hard on the tether, her opponent hitting the ground violently. She grabbed its hair, and with a well-placed boot and one good tug, its neck was broken.

“There.” Ouro brushed her hands off, and the tether dissipated. She glanced at Fennorian, not sure what his reaction might be, but he merely nodded.

“Well done. A bit rough and tumble, perhaps, but still more elegant than swinging a giant battle axe.” One side of his mouth tugged up, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What would you say that one was out of ten?”

Fenn pursed his lips, thinking, and tapped his chin with one finger. “Good form, as I would expect, fascinating use of…whatever that was…I have questions, by the way. But, not wholly reliant on magic, so…a versatile skill set. I’d say a solid seven.” He nodded again, pleased with his summary.

“Fair enough. I’ll aim for _pizzazz_ next time.” She shrugged, shoulder twinging just a bit, and they started walking again. “Those damned things _hate_ me. Sometimes I wonder if they don’t share a bloody consciousness.”

“I’d never thought of that. Their periodic tendency to swarm _would_ support that theory.”

Ouro stopped in her tracks as the passage widened into a cavern once more. There were no words for the vision before her. The towering luminescent mushrooms cast a blue-green glow, lighting up what would otherwise be an expanse of darkness. Their tendrils swayed gently, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a breeze that far up, or if they moved on their own. And if they moved on their own…why?

She _had_ seen a great many things, both beautiful and horrible, but this was something else. It was massive and made her feel oddly small. A little, little thing, in a world so much larger than she could fathom. It didn’t matter how long she’d lived; this cave had been here and been this beautiful long before she was pulled screaming into existence.

“Incredible…” Ouro touched Fenn’s arm, almost giving his sleeve a tug. “You’re seeing this as I am, surely…just…every detail…mortal eyes will never look at this and see it as we do.” She let out a long breath, unexpectedly moved. “We suffer a great deal for being what we are, but every now and then…something makes it…worthwhile.” He made no reply, and she assumed he was simply as awestruck as she was, but she found him watching her instead. “What are you looking at me for? Look at _that_.” She scoffed, shaking her head. He was brilliant, but also somewhat peculiar.

“This cavern has been here since the beginning of time, I’d wager, and it will be here until the end of it.” Make that _very_ peculiar.

“You can look at _me_ whenever, you daft elf. This…” Her eyes returned to the rocky landscape, the creatures, the glowing specks that drifted around them. “…this I could look at for…” She trailed off.

“It certainly is otherworldly.” Fenn was quiet for a long moment until the faint sound of metal on stone met their ears. “You hear that?”

“Digging…and shouting.” Ouro frowned. “Boggles the mind that no one from Dusktown thought to wander this far.”

“Maybe they did.” He offered, looking concerned.

“Good point.”

Avoiding another nereid mishap and skirting around a couple unidentified, many-legged creatures, they climbed what might have been a guard tower of some sort, once upon a time. Crouched out of sight, they watched the activity below. Across the cavern, a large Dwemer facility that protruded through the rock wall was lit up, clearly occupied. An unpleasant and unnatural red glow emanated from openings in the massive structure.

“So many of them,” Fenn whispered. “They’ve got people chained and working as well. Unusual. Typically, groups of vampires use dried-up thralls for that kind of work and keep their food contained.”

“There’s something important going on inside that facility. Or heinous.”

“Both, is my guess. But I don’t think we’re equipped to find out today.”

“No, of course not.” Ouro shook her head but suddenly squinted a little and narrowed her eyes. “Is…is that…do you _see_ that?”

“Bears? Down _here_ …?” Fenn’s brow drew together before stifling a quiet gasp. “No…that’s…”

“Look at the eyes, Fenn. They made _vampire bears_. What _else_ are they doing in there?” The horror of vampiric quadruped predators was jarring.

“I’m not sure I want to know. Well, I do…but I don’t. How does one even make such a creature? What sort of person even _conceives_ of such an idea?” He shook his head. The science behind such an atrocity was no doubt fascinating, but not what they needed to be focused on.

“The sort of person who ends up being very, _very_ troublesome. We need to get more information. There is always someone who has something to tell.”

“Yes, but _finding_ that someone, that’s the pickle.”

More patrols were out and about as they tried to come back the way they’d come initially. Perhaps they’d been spotted, and thus the extra security. It took twice as long to get back to a comparatively safe section of the cavern. And even then, there was nothing safe about it.

“Deeply unfortunate that a place of that magnificence is infested with those vile beasts. Raises questions of just how long they’ve been up to…whatever they’re up to.” Ouro complained as they wound their way around stalactites.

“How long ago were _you_ here?”

“Quite a long time ago.” She wasn’t absolutely sure. Possibly three or four centuries.

“Oh, so, what were the Dwemer like?” He looked very much like the cat who’d eaten the canary when she peered up at him.

“Not _that_ long ago. Gods, Fennorian, just how much do you…” Rock crumbled above them, and Ouro looked up in time to see something hunched and pale shove a boulder. “ _No!_ ” She dove at Fenn, tackling him to the ground as the massive piece of rock landed where he’d been standing. Sitting on him still, her head whipped around, watching the Falmer skittering toward them. “Shit.”

“I can help…” Fenn started to get up, but Ouro gave him a shove and leapt to her feet, throwing a shield down over him. Red mist undulated over the protective dome where he sat. “Ouro! There are too many!”

“I’ve had worse.” She growled, a sword materializing in each hand. Her eyes burned red as one of the creatures rushed her, wielding two axes. Ouro shifted to mist, and he passed through her and skidded to a halt. He didn’t have time to register what had happened before she buried both blades in the back of its neck. The bastards were coordinated though, despite their blindness, and another slammed her with a crudely forged shield.

She slid across the ground, rolling backwards to her feet. They were starting to swarm around Fenn’s shield, and she moved with unnatural speed, releasing a thundering pulse that flung the Falmer back. Ouro had been distracted, this should have never happened. She should have realized well ahead of time that they were going to be ambushed. Fenn was yelling to her, but she couldn’t hear him, moving as quickly as she could, putting her blades into as many of these eyeless freaks as possible.

Bit by bit, Ouro led the majority of the group away from the shield where Fenn was trapped, but safe. An axe grazed her back, and the links of her the mail beneath her leathers dug into her skin. She took down three more, thinning them out, but felt another blade bite into her arm. It burned, but not from any source of heat. There was something else, something worse.

The shield would wear off eventually, and she hoped Fenn would be smart enough to get away to safety. She could handle herself; it might just take a while was all. Ouro’s vision blurred briefly, but she kept fighting. Even the smell of their blood was repulsive.

She was wounded but couldn’t stop. They…whoever they were, needed Fenn if they were to have any hope of stopping all this Gray Host nonsense. Another blade drove into her side, and she cried out as it burned. She wasn’t healing…why wasn’t she healing? It didn’t matter…she took two more down and strangled another with a tether.

But she heard crumbling rock again, vision blurring and refocusing. It struck her hard in the back, the left shoulder. These fuckers fought dirty, that was for sure. Then the ground was beneath her cheek…and pain. This was the cost of distraction, the cost of not being prepared. Six and a half centuries and thousands upon thousands of things far worse than these vile cretins…and _this_ was how it was going to be?

There was a bright flash, blinding almost, and she felt its warmth. Maybe that’s what happened when dying. Ouro couldn’t say for sure, of course. She was a vampire, though, nothing was waiting for her after this. Nothing good, anyway. An eternity of torture in Coldharbour, maybe?


	6. Poison

Pain meant alive. Ouro wasn’t dead yet, not permanently, anyway. She took stock of her surroundings without opening her eyes. She was in a bed, whole. Nothing had been severed, though her left shoulder was either mangled or out of place. Not for the first time. Her wounds were bleeding, her strength was waning at an alarming rate and the burning in her veins had not stopped.

“I suppose I’m not making a very good impression if the first fight I get into I had to be carried back.” She knew Fenn had to be close by.

“It was your second, technically.”

“That nereid didn’t count.”

“You fought off at least a dozen Falmer before that shield wore off. I’d say that’s a better impression than I’ve ever seen anyone make.” He put his flask to her lips, but his tone grew serious. “You’re not healing as you ought to be.” Ouro took a healthy swallow from the flask, and it returned a bit of her strength. Now she could at least open her eyes and look at her caretaker. Fenn’s youthful face was drawn, etched with concern.

“It’s poison. The damn Falmer…they’re savage little beasts, but they do poison better than anyone.” She shifted but cried out in pain. The shoulder was dislocated. “Put my shoulder back, Fenn, I’ll live, but you have to put it right…now.” He wasn't going to be able to do it with that jacket on. "Help me get this off..."

“I’ve never wished for a clothing removal spell before.” He mumbled half under his breath.

“You mean they didn't teach that in fancy Altmer sorcery school?”

“Of course, not.” Fennorian sat on the edge of the bed beside her, and his fingers flew across the buckles and straps.

“Ow, don’t make me laugh.” Ouro winced, trying to assist with her one good hand, but he batted it away as she hindered more than helped.

“It wasn’t meant to be funny.”

“Well, you’re doing quite a good job anyway.”

“Do you always make jokes in the midst of dire situations?” His eyes flicked to hers, then back to the task at hand.

“Yes, I have to.”

“Put your right arm around my neck.” When he leaned down close, for some reason, it startled her, but Ouro did as instructed, and he carefully pulled her into a sitting position. She clenched her teeth but stayed quiet, not wanting to frazzle Fenn more than he already was. Were it not for that damned poison, she’d be nearly healed already.

His scent was clean, like herbs and snow, somehow. She’d hadn’t been close enough to notice before. It was unexpectedly pleasant, and she accepted the opportunity to distract herself with his overall pleasantness. Though, she probably smelled like a yak after scuffling with those horrid creatures. After what felt like an eternity, the heavy leather jack was removed. Fenn gently laid her back again, then started feeling her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, seeing her face twist a little. There was a sudden movement, a stabbing sensation, and then the pain in her shoulder dulled considerably.

“Well done.” Ouro let out a long breath, but there was still the matter of her open wounds. Before she could comment further, he put his flask to her lips again, and she drank.

“I took a small sample of the poison from your injuries. I can put together something to counteract it.” He moved about the room, dashing downstairs and rushing back up. She wasn’t paying any attention to what he was actually doing and closed her eyes, breathing evenly.

The last time Ouro was this badly injured was when she and Soren had run afoul of a pair of Imperial vampires experimenting on Argonians. There had been poison involved that time, too. Invulnerability to just about everything but fire and decapitation did not mean it didn’t hurt to be run through with a sword. Pain was as real to vampires as it was to mortals, the difference being that it was easier for vampires to carry on despite it, knowing they would heal in short order.

“Your shirt is already in tatters.” Fenn pulled her from her thoughts, and Ouro blinked, looking to where he sat on the edge of the bed again. There was a bottle with ominous contents in his hand.

“Just cut it off, then, I’ve got others.” Weakness was creeping back up on her as he looked around for a blade. “Rip it, for fuck’s sake…just…hurry.”

“Right. Of course…” He set aside the small bottle of what she assumed was the antidote for the poison coursing through her, and she watched as he reached for the collar of her shirt. He was hesitating, though.

“Go on, this can’t be the first shirt you’ve ripped off someone lying in your bed.” Ouro teased, hoping to add a little levity to the situation, but Fenn didn’t reply and avoided looking her in the eye. “Really?” Why was she surprised? He didn’t strike her as the sort who had all kinds of lovers, but he was handsome and tall, not to mention brilliant. It seemed so unlikely that he didn’t have his pick of whoever he might fancy. Then again, it was possible he simply wasn’t interested in things of that nature. It was none of her business, of course.

Fenn tore the shirt from collar to hem, and she got that strange, startled sensation again watching him do it. Perhaps the poison had gone to her head as well. He looked almost relieved to find that she kept her breasts wrapped, and so she was not laid entirely bare before him. It was necessary, though; her ample breasts would have very much gotten in the way of fighting and even horseback riding if she didn’t keep them securely contained.

“This is going to be quite painful, I’m afraid. But it will neutralize the poison.” When the first drops of his antidote met her rent and bleeding flesh, Ouro’s entire body grew rigid as unexpectedly intense pain tore through her. It felt as though her skin was being flayed, salted, and flayed again.

Fenn tended to each of her wounds, and when he’d gotten them all, Ouro lay with her eyes closed, breath coming ragged, but finally, the healing had started again. Warmth washed over her as he expedited it further.

“Thank you.” She exhaled. “And I apologize if I said anything untoward or made you uncomfortable.”

“No, not at all.” He sat down once more and picked up her left arm, moving it carefully, touching where the wounds were mostly healed. “May I ask about your scars?”

“Yes.” Ouro wiggled aside a little bit to give him more room.

“Is this from before you were turned?” He was looking at the burn scar which came down her left should and the top of her breast. It also stretched back partially down her shoulder blade.

“No. There exists fire that can mark even a vampire.” She smiled a little, though. “Besides, there wasn’t anyone there with your talents to help it.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” Perhaps Fenn was as bad at taking compliments as she was. “May I?” He motioned to the scar, and Ouro nodded. His touch was cool but gentle. “Has anyone tried to fix this for you?”

“It’s been there so long, I’m not sure I’d recognize myself without it.” A small laugh escaped. “Why? Is it terribly ugly?” She looked down at the scar, watching his fingers trace the edge of it upward, abruptly halting.

“No! No, I didn’t mean to imply it’s unsightly…I was simply wondering…” He pulled away, but Ouro caught his hand before he could get up.

“It’s fine; I know what you meant.” She assured him. Fennorian relaxed visibly. “I’ve never been bothered by the scars I bear. They remind me that I survived something.”

“What about the scars no one can see?”

Tempting though it was to make a remark about undressing further, she resisted.

“They are deeper and more real even than these.” She touched the mottled scar. “They were once wounds like any other, not so different from taking a knife to the gut. Often, they mean more. They never really go away, but just like these, we learn to live with them.”

Fenn looked away, folding his hands in his lap. “Sounds like something Verandis might have said. That must be why you got along with him.”

“We didn’t often have this sort of discussion. Our conversations weren't very intimate. Nothing was. He was a good man who did good things, but…”

“What was it, then?”

“Empty.”

“Then why…?”

“I don’t know.” Ouro shrugged. “Perhaps I thought maybe one day it wouldn’t be.” She chuckled, though. “Besides, he had an eye for pretty women, and I am no great beauty.”

“Perhaps you’ve got the wrong definition of great beauty.” Fenn fidgeted then, brushing something imaginary from his knee before getting to his feet. Ouro had no idea how to even respond, just staring stupidly. “I’ll fetch you another shirt.”

Twice, now, he’d made a comment of that nature. She could take jeering, insults, teasing, and general harassment in stride, but the instant someone said something nice _and_ meant it, she was rendered mute. Fennorian of House Ravenwatch was a rare, genuinely kind, and feeling person. He didn’t mask it with feigned swagger as others might.

Wincing a little, Ouro sat up, taking the bloody scraps that remained of her shirt. She’d bled profusely in Fenn’s bed, so with a small sigh, she moved her hand over the stained linens, and the blood transferred to the already-ruined shirt, which she then dropped on the floor before slowly getting to her feet.

“What are you doing?” Fenn reached the top of the stairs, clean shirt in hand.

“Standing up. I heal fairly quickly without the poison, you know.” She picked up the discarded coat. “Besides, I need to repair this before we go out again.”

“You ought to rest.”

“You just made me all shiny and new, I’m fine, Fenn.” When Ouro looked up, he had a dubious expression on his face.

“I would feel better if you just…stayed here and rested.” He took the jacket from her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and sat her back on the bed. Ouro stared up at him, mystified. Not that he’d been so bold, but that she was inclined to take his advice.

“This is your bed.” It was the only feeble protest she could muster.

“I think we’ve already had this discussion.” Fenn smiled, though. “No patient of _mine_ is going to take unnecessary risks before they are well again.”

“How fortunate you are that you have such scholarly charm, Fennorian.” Ouro crossed her arms as he made an undignified noise of incredulity.

“I can’t say I’ve ever been accused of _that_ before.” He shook his head. “Off with those boots, though. No dirt on the duvet.”

“ _The duvet._ What next? Away with the trousers, too?” She muttered, reaching down to take off the boots. What in the bloody fuck was the matter with her? What else had he put in that concoction to make her so compliant? Glancing up, she saw his mouth working soundlessly. “It was a joke, Fenn.”

“I know that, of course.” He scoffed and turned to rummage through a cabinet. Ouro snatched the clean shirt from him and pulled it on, boots having been discarded.

“I think this would be a good time for some of Mjolen’s liquored blood.”

“Did you bring some?” Fenn paused, looking back at her. So, he _had_ liked it. She smiled, pleased.

“There is a bottle in my things.” Ouro was, of course, curious about the young scholar and wondered what sorts of beans he might spill should he loosen up a bit after some gentle inebriation. “You can get it if you’d like.” She shrugged, nonchalant. “I wouldn’t say no to a nip after such a day.”

Ouro stuffed her stockings into her boots and sat cross-legged on the bed. Fenn marched up the stairs with an armful of books, and the bottle in the other hand, which he gave to her. He was down to just his shirt and breeches as well, and he set the books on the bed then got comfortable.

“So, I take it that your time with Mjolen was fruitful?”

“Yes! I took copious notes.” He shoved one of the books toward her. Ouro uncorked the bottle and drank deeply before passing it over to him. She picked up the journal and flipped through the pages, looking at Fenn’s scrawling handwriting. She found the first mention of Mjolen, and curiously, she looked to the previous entry, where her own name appeared.

_Quite startling was the unexpected arrival of Ouro Aduen. She was very welcome, bringing blood and an offer of assistance. She mentioned a Clever Woman who will be able to help answer my questions regarding Reach magic. As there was only one horse, it was quite a long ride from the cabin where she found me to the hut where the old woman lived. I managed not to embarrass myself, at least, since we were pressed together for several hours and her fairly ample backside…_

“You’ve written about me.” She grinned over the top of the book at Fenn, who was mid-drink. He swallowed, resisted the urge to cough, and plucked the book from her hands.

“Naturally. I prefer thorough records of my activities.”

“Thorough record of my fairly ample backside?” Ouro’s brows arched, and Fenn took another long draught from the bottle.

“Remember the unnatural storms I mentioned to you?” It was probably for the best that he ignore her remark.

“Yes.”

“Harrowstorms. The Reach witches summon the storm to siphon the energy from living people. The harvest, they’re calling it. It seems they bring back members of the Gray Host this way. The end result of anyone captured in it is either dead, mindless, or a vicious harrowfiend.”

“Are vampires affected by them?” She took the bottle.

“I’m not sure yet, there is still so much information to gather. We…” A sudden knock on the door downstairs interrupted him, and Ouro frowned.

“No one is supposed to be bothering us.” She set the liquored blood aside and stood, reaching up to muss her hair a bit. “Do I look sufficiently ravished? As though interrupted whilst in the midst of passion?” She grinned, but Fenn merely stared up at her, mouth open as no words emerged. On a whim, she reached out and ruffled his hair as well. “There. Now, so do you.”

“What…what are you doing?” He asked as she started down the stairs.

“What do you think?” She huffed, reaching the door and unbolted it. She spoke loudly for the benefit of whoever was outside. “I _thought_ I was _clear_ about not wanting to be interrupted.” She could hear Fenn’s footsteps as he made his way for the stairs.

Ouro opened the door to find a small, Breton woman who peered at her with wide, shocked, red eyes. A snarl tore from Ouro as she grabbed the girl by the neck, almost slamming her against the door jam.

“What do you want, vampire?” Ouro bared her teeth.

“I’m…I was looking for…Fennorian…” The uninvited guest managed to gasp. Ouro squeezed a little tighter.

“Melina?” Fenn opened the door wider, and Ouro let go at once.

“Ravenwatch?” She asked.

“Yes, another junior member I assume you’ve never seen before.” He stepped aside as Melina rubbed her neck, then blinked and flung herself at him, arms clamped around his middle.

“I was worried! I’m so glad to see you!” The girl gushed. Fenn looked unsure what to do and ended up patting her gently on the head before extricating himself from her grasp. Her gaze moved from his bare feet to his breeches, and rumpled, untucked shirt. “What…what were you doing?”

“Reviewing notes…” He offered, as though it was obvious. Melina looked from his state to Ouro’s, though, eyes narrowing.

Ouro squirmed a little internally. “Well, this is awkward.”


	7. Vividly

The vampire girl’s smitten, doe-eyed gaze as she constantly stared up at Fennorian was a bit nauseating. To Ouro’s amusement, though, he seemed impervious, if not oblivious, to it, sidling away each time she drew nearer until it was like watching some painfully slow and very unsuccessful game of chase. They yammered about Ravenwatch business. Mostly, it was Melina describing what Gwendis, Adusa, and the others were up to. Things he was already aware of, but politely he allowed her to go on anyway.

“Most humans aren’t brave enough to…linger amongst _us_.” The girl chattered. Ouro realized the statement was aimed at her. She was sitting on the stairs, paging through a book Fenn had left there. Managing not to roll her eyes, she looked up.

“Us?” Ouro frowned. The Ravenwatch? There was less to fear from them than from an ordinary stray cat.

“Vampires.”

“Depends on the human. Or whatever mortal.”

“Well, you must be brave. Are you a…willing donor, then? We…” Melina halted as Ouro bared her fangs for demonstration purposes and then crossed her legs. “Oh, you’re also…I see…you’re glamoured very well, then, aren’t you?”

“No glamour.” Ouro shrugged.

Fenn moved by them. “I will gather my reports for you to take.” He went up the steps, leaving the two women alone.

“Just _who_ are you?” Melina folded her arms defensively, fixing Ouro with a hard stare.

“Ouro Aduen of the Blood Riders.” If the girl was aiming for intimidating, she was accomplishing nothing.

“I see. Well, I’ve never heard of you.”

“And now you have.”

Melina’s growing discomfort was becoming apparent, however, as she shuffled around a bit and avoided looking at Ouro’s bare feet and halfway undone shirt. There was no doubt how things looked. It wasn’t _entirely_ intentional, but it was amusing. It could have been worse, though; Ouro could have answered the door with _only_ the shirt on. Likely that would have shocked poor Fenn as well.

“You’re a…friend…of Fenn’s?”

“I am.” It didn’t take a keen sense of perception to tell the girl was enamored with Fennorian, or that she was jealous and suspicious of their unkempt state. Though she did try to hide it.

“I see.” She repeated, then leaned toward Ouro. “Fenn and I are quite close, you know. We share a special bond.” She whispered, in an obvious effort to stake her claim or some such nonsense. Ouro leaned forward conspiratorially as if she intended to share some secret of her own.

“How very lovely for you.” Her sarcasm was lost on the girl. “But…that’s not really my business, now, is it?” She sat back again as Melina fidgeted, flustered.

“Just what do you want with him, anyway? Hm? You’re a stranger.”

“Want with him?” Ouro chuckled and shook her head. “That’s a poor definition of friendship you’ve got if you think it’s about wanting something.”

“That isn’t it at all! That’s _not_ what I meant.” Melina gaped. Before Ouro could say more, Fenn returned, shirt tucked in and handed over a couple sealed letters addressed to his fellow Ravenwatch comrades.

“So…what’s brought you to Blackreach, anyway, _Ouro Aduen?_ ” Melina crossed her arms tighter, clutching those letters in one hand.

“Do you interrogate everyone you meet this way? I came here to help a friend.” Ouro glanced at Fenn, who seemed very interested in a knot on the wooden bannister.

“And have you?”

“Well, I did kill about ten Falmer today. I suppose that was useful.” Ouro was growing bored of this—the girl and her adolescent silliness.

“Fourteen,” Fenn added, helpfully. “Ouro was a good friend of Verandis, and so she is a good friend to the Ravenwatch in general. Your suspicion is unwarranted, Melina.”

“One can never be too careful where other vampires are concerned.” She muttered.

“That’s rather unfair, isn’t it? Where would we be had Verandis held such suspicions?” Fenn frowned, and the girl looked aghast, having been scolded. In a show of great self-control, Ouro didn’t snicker aloud. She did have a weird urge to poke the little twit in the eye, though.

“Well…I didn’t mean…” Melina blinked, searching futilely for some way to backpedal.

“If you could deliver those reports as quickly as you can, they are quite urgent.” Fenn put a hand on her shoulder, and she beamed up at him. Ouro watched; he was standing like he had a rod up his backside…more so than usual.

“Right…right, of course.” Melina blustered. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to receive them.” She looked down, her eyes briefly on Ouro before turning that wide, exaggeratedly innocent gaze once more to Fenn. “I do hope we can see each other again soon.” Ever so slightly, he bristled. He was uncomfortable, and Melina didn’t see what Ouro did.

“Erm…I’m sure we shall.” He opened the door, and finally, she tore her eyes from him and departed. He closed it again behind her, throwing the bolt, and relaxing visibly.

“Well, well.” Ouro leaned back with her elbows on the stairs and affected nonchalance.

“What?”

“Your lover?” She tilted her head to one side and almost lost her composure as his mouth dropped open.

“Certainly not.” He muttered, heading back up the stairs with her on his heels.

“She is _quite_ taken with you.” Ouro took her place on the bed once more, watching as Fenn grabbed up the bottle and drank. If she was being honest with herself, the girl was exactly what she might have pictured in a mate for him. Some cloyingly sweet and innocent girl to adore him and his irritating bookish charm. “She said you share a special bond.” Gladly, she accepted the bottle when he offered it to her. His damned charm _wasn’t_ irritating at all, and Ouro couldn’t convince herself otherwise, despite trying. It was endearing and made her more fond of him all the time. Perhaps _that_ was the irritating bit. Even after six centuries, the list of individuals she genuinely liked was short. Inexplicably, this young Altmer now sat at the top of it.

“I consider being part of the Ravenwatch to be a special bond, but aside from that, I’ve done nothing to merit…other attentions.” He started paging through one of the books again and changed the subject. Tempting though it was, Ouro wouldn’t press the matter just to satisfy her own curiosity. “Mjolen suggested that part of the compound used on the witch pikes was something that they must have found growing down here.” Pointing at the page, he held the book out to Ouro, and she scanned the entry, nodding.

“I imagine there is a plethora of things growing down here with all kinds of undiscovered alchemical properties.” She mused.

“ _I know_.” He smiled, some excitement showing through. “Once this ordeal is over… _if_ …if this ordeal is ever over…I should like to spend a good deal more time here studying if I’m able.”

“There _is_ a lot of fascinating exploration to be done.” Such as exploring the overabundance of Dwemer relics she’d love to get her hands on. The prospect of expanding her collection was always tempting. Those discoveries would be more than interesting.

“Well, if we come out of this alive, you should join me.” He was smiling again, he smiled at her a lot it seemed. Or she simply looked at his face too much.

“After all of this, you’d want to be stuck with me some more?” Ouro wanted very much to tell him yes, that she’d be delighted to participate in research and exploration with him in Blackreach. Or anywhere, really; he’d make anyplace more interesting with his enthusiasm, and…whatever else it was about him. But unsurprisingly, she couldn’t make herself say what she wanted to.

“Of course. We’re friends, as you said.” His eyes lingered a moment too long on hers, she thought. Or she imagined it. Remnants of the Falmer poison, perhaps. “In truth, I’ve spent most of my time solitary since…being turned. Especially after Verandis…left. The others, they, of course, have been supportive and generous with familial affection, as you might expect, but I didn’t feel quite at ease…” He paused, looking down at his hands, his cheeks and ears darkening just a little. “Not in the way it is easy to talk to you. I could talk to Verandis, of course…but…not anymore.”

What was she supposed to say to him? It was a heartfelt admission of comfort and trust in this, their new, budding friendship. She felt similarly, but to simply say _me too_ would cheapen it, or make her seem insincere. She had to say something, though, the man was laying himself bare.

“I haven’t got any friends.” It tumbled out of its own volition, and Ouro was horrorstruck. Where in the bloody fuck had that come from? _Fix it, fix it quick!_ She berated herself. “Other friends, I mean. I suppose you’re it.” Or just…make it worse. She felt downright stupid and stared at the bottle in her hand. Why? Why would she say such a thing to him? To _anyone_? It was the truth, of course, but not a pleasant one she’d ever admitted aloud. This was uncomfortable.

“What about the Riders?” His tone softened. She turned the bottle in her hands, not looking at him.

“I’m First Rider…I’m their superior officer, not their friend.” In for a bean, in for a beanstalk. Ouro let out a long breath and went on. “There’s Soren, he’s been my Second for…I don’t even know how long. Centuries. He’s loyal, he knows some secrets, I suppose. But there is still a barrier there.” Perhaps Soren _was_ her friend, but his closeness and unwavering loyalty to Tesgrim made her keep him at arm’s length.

“What do you do, then, with all that time if not spend it with friends?” Fenn reached out and gently took the bottle from her, and she looked him in the eye again.

“Travel. Work. Find things for my collection. Read. Visit my mother from time to time.” It happened _again_ , something important just…came out of her mouth. It had been at least three hundred years since she’d mentioned her mother to anyone but Mjolen.

“Her grave?”

“No…she’s a vampire, unfortunately. And quite mad, swinging between having the mind of a child and being a feral beast. She was turned against her will…violently. Offered up to Molag Bal like a prized pig by a…very cruel, twisted man. I killed him for it, and it brought me great pleasure to do so.” What Ouro didn’t tell him was that the man had been her father. Fenn took a long drink.

“Is that what happened to you?” It was an innocent enough question, but not one she was prepared for, and so she stared for a long moment, reaching for anything to say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that. It’s a very personal thing…”

“It’s alright.” She cleared her throat, shifting a little, feeling uneasy, but in a strange way. She wanted to tell him everything, and she’d never wanted to tell anyone anything before. It was making her insides churn. “I didn’t have the same experience as she did, but I was not given a choice about the matter either.” It was as safe an answer as she could think of.

“I see.” Fenn nodded. “So…what sorts of things do you like to read?” He grinned when she let out a relieved breath.

“As much as I love history and the sciences, I adore novels.” She gave a shrug.

“Any favorite stories? Or genres?” He passed her the bottle as she pondered.

“There are so many.” Ouro laughed. “I enjoy every kind. Drama, mystery, anything.” She paused. _Don’t do it. Don’t say anything else ridiculous._ “Love stories, if you can believe it.” She drank, noting that whatever Mjolen had done to this bottle, something in it made warmth bloom outward from inside her.

“Really?” His brows arched high. “I would not have pegged you as sentimental.”

“We all have our flaws.” She muttered, giving up all hope that the things she kept from everyone would be kept from Fenn, too. Suddenly she looked up, though, shoving the bottle into his hands and poked him hard in the chest with one finger. “But if you say anything to _anyone_ …” A suitable threat didn’t come to mind, and she faltered.

“Yes, yes…harm, doom, and fury.” He laughed, though.

“Why does this amuse you so much?” Ouro crossed her arms, deeply disconcerted with the sensation of having the innermost parts of her, some of them, anyway, on display.

“I’m not laughing at you, I promise.” He put the bottle on the floor and closed the book in his lap. “And I wouldn’t say amused…but…perhaps hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” She frowned. “For what?”

His face changed as he thought about what to say, growing serious, but somehow less guarded.

“If you’ve lived for as long as you have and can still feel things…if you can still be in awe of _anything_ , like you were when we stepped into that cavern, then…” Fenn paused, biting his lip for a moment, almost emotional. “Then I have hope that being made into this _creature_ …doesn’t mean I am damned to an eventual eternity of grayness.”

“Fenn…” She breathed, taken aback by the admission.

“It has been hanging over me since it happened.” He exhaled, relieved. “I could not bear the thought of an existence where I was no longer fascinated…where everything had become dull and passionless. Empty.”

“I think those of us who have become empty were never really full to begin with.” Ouro had watched Riders plagued with that emptiness walk into fire to end it all.

“How have you stayed alive? So to speak.”

“It comes and goes.” She told him, voice quiet as she watched his eyes. “There are times when you look at the world and think you’ve seen everything. Then something happens, and…” How could such a thing be explained? She’d revealed more about herself in the short time they’d known each other than she had to anyone she’d known for years.

“And?” He searched her face, hungry for answers, for the hope she’d given him.

“And then everything is in color again.” Ouro looked away, blinking a few times, pushing back the surge of emotion that threatened to surface. It was _him_. She didn’t know how or why, but meeting Fennorian had changed something profoundly, even in so little time. That’s how it was, sometimes. Though, never quite like this. If such a friend could make her feel _truly_ alive, she was grateful, even if she was still utterly incapable of communicating that.

“What about right now?” He was smiling when she looked at his face again. “Is the world in color for you?”

A simple yes would've sufficed, but it didn’t say enough.

Ouro nodded. “Vividly.”


	8. Concerning Werewolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible questline story spoilers.

There was something delicious about the anticipation of stalking prey. Ouro had always taken great pleasure in the hunt, and it was that much more enjoyable when she was able to drain her victim dry. In this instance, however, there wouldn’t even be feeding, let alone draining. She didn’t adhere to the Ravenwatch creed of _never-ever-drink-from-the-unwilling-ever_ , but she didn’t typically kill those who didn’t deserve it. They never had any memory of the encounter when they woke, either. Usually.

From the shadows, Ouro and Fennorian stood close together, watching a rather hairy, but injured, man sitting beside a small fire at rough, nestled-away camp. He was alone, and he was a werewolf. The lupine scent was pungent and unmistakable. Though, something did seem amiss about it. They’d spotted him the day before after a fruitless endeavor to gather more information about the vampire infested Dwemer facility in the Lightless Hollow. A strange name for a place so well illuminated by giant, glowing fungus.

Their prey, or as Fenn preferred, their _person of interest_ , had somehow escaped the facility, or so they theorized based on the erratic dodging and hiding he’d been doing. Ouro, as the one who looked passably mortal, especially in the abysmal light conditions of that craggy locale, had posed as someone from Dusktown. She’d asked him what happened while Fennorian lurked, listening in. Naturally, she’d gotten nothing but a lie about some mine collapse and a rude brush-off. Not that she’d expected a candid heart-to-heart with a raggedy fellow like that. His sweat and fear were as rank as the lycanthropic stench. Whatever the vampires were doing down there, it wasn’t giving their unwilling pets a bath.

Wedged together in the dark crack, Ouro’s face reached Fennorian’s sternum. With him pressed against her back, even whispering up to his altitude would require an audible volume that could give them away. Fortunately, she already had plenty of practice dealing with the vertically blessed. Very carefully, to avoid making any noise, she started to turn. This required briefly pressing back against Fenn, squeezing around, then, with her back braced against the stone and one foot against the other side, she shimmied up about a foot, putting them at a more equal level.

“What…?” His question was interrupted by her hand over his mouth, the other tugging him closer to whisper in his ear.

“Do you _really_ think he’s going to do anything but try to rip out your throat?” Ouro had her doubts about the reliability of this particular person-of-interest. “The place is crawling with vampires; he’s not going to differentiate between you and them after whatever they did to him.”

“While you make a very valid point, were you or were you not the one who said there’s always someone who has something to tell?” Fenn gestured pointedly toward the hairy man sitting sullenly at the fire. “ _He_ has something to tell. Just look at him. It’s not warm down here, and he’s not wearing a shirt.”

“Not one made of cloth, anyway…”

Fenn grimaced at the implication. “There is no one _else_ to ask.”

“Technically…”

“We don’t possess the necessary accommodations to capture one of the vampires for you to _interview_.” His breath against her ear made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“That’s a very loose word for _torture_.”

“No means no.”

“Spoilsport.” She muttered. Fenn gave a snort.

“My apologies for _strong-arming_ you into humane behavior.” The smirk he wore belied his scolding. “You’re a familiar face, perhaps _you_ should be the one to…”

“Who’s out there?” Their _person of interest_ was squinting into the shadows in their direction.

“Way to go, Fenn.” Ouro scoffed, though she was equally guilty of not accounting for the superior hearing of werewolves.

“ _Me?_ ” He hissed. She slid down him, planting her feet properly on the ground again.

“Looks like you’re on.” Giving him a shove, he was dislodged from the crevice, and half stumbled into the firelight. The man rose at once, baring his teeth.

“I’m sorry.” Fenn blurted automatically. He often resorted to leading with an apology, but to be fair, that tactic usually worked well for him. “Please, I just…”

“Fucking vampire, I will kill you before I go back to that place. Or I will die trying.” It looked as if they’d be face to face with full-blown werewolf very shortly if Fenn didn’t calm him down.

“I assure you, that’s entirely unnecessary. I’ve had to explain several times lately that I’m _not_ with them…I’m not one of them. Not the coven _or_ the Gray Host. I don’t want to take you anywhere.” Fenn was in no _real_ danger. It was one injured werewolf, _no_ lurking Falmer, and Ouro had the advantage.

“Then what do you want? Leave me alone!”

“I’m a healer, I can assist with your injuries, though also if you’ll permit me, I’d like to ask you about them.” Fenn had his hands out, in an effort to be as non-threatening as he could. He did remarkably well at it despite being just about seven bloody feet tall.

“Are you working with that other bitch that came out of nowhere? I can smell her on you.” Of course, he could; they’d just spent an uncomfortable amount of time squeezed together in a rock wall. Well, and there was the whole sharing of the bed. _That_ was a thing now. The man grimaced, though, almost snarling, ready to spring into action.

“I can smell _you_ from here.” Ouro came out of the darkness. “I could have killed you or kidnapped you yesterday, and I didn’t. I still could now, but that isn’t what we want.” Perhaps an introduction would help. “I am Ouro, and this is Fennorian, the safest and most law-abiding vampire you will ever meet.”

“And?” The man folded his arms. Very well, an introduction did _not_ help.

“I don’t know about law-abiding,” Fenn murmured. “Do you _know_ how many tombs I’ve broken into? My trespassing record would—”

“Fenn.” Ouro gave him a pointed look.

“Right. Ahem. Apologies. Sir, we…”

“Edjar.” Was that a name or a grunt?

“Edjar. Right.” Fenn gave a nod, clearing his throat again. “We need information about what’s going on in that facility, and I suspect you were there.”

“Walk up yourself, I’m sure they’ll give you a tour.” Edjar sneered. “Might even let you stay.”

“I’d rather not.” It was not going to be easy to get anything from the werewolf, and Fenn glanced back at Ouro, a pleading look in his eyes.

“We need to know what’s going on in there if there is to be any chance of stopping it.” She stepped up beside him.

“Ha!” Edjar’s laugh was mirthless. “You think you can _stop_ them?”

“Well, with help, that is the hope.” Fennorian’s brow drew into a frown.

“Have you been to the other caverns? They’re endless, just like those damn vampires. Hundreds, thousands, who knows how many?” Edjar shook his head. “There is no hope.”

“Not with _that_ attitude.” Fenn smiled a little, eliciting another glare from their new acquaintance.

“You’re a bit upbeat for a guy who will burst into flames in sunlight.” He growled, hunching his shoulders, and sitting back down. His wince of pain did not escape their notice. Fenn opened his mouth to reply.

“ _Well_ …”

Ouro gave him a firm nudge with her elbow. “What have you got to lose? We aren’t going to kill you whether you talk to us or not. Either way, your miserable existence goes on. Do you want it to _stay_ miserable as your wounds fester? Or would you like even the slightest chance of things changing?” She let out a long breath as Edjar mulled it over, a sour look on his face.

“Experiments.”

“ _What_?” Fenn’s eyes widened, and there was a pencil and notebook in his hands, seemingly from nowhere.

“The one in charge there, Tzinghalis, he was performing experiments on us.” Edjar glanced up at them and answered the question before either could ask it. “They have my pack as well.”

“Experimenting on werewolves? In what ways?” Fenn was already scribbling down notes.

“I’m not giving something for nothing. Fix me up, like you said. My pack is still there, chained up with…strange chains. They’re unbreakable. You scratch my back, I scratch yours, hm?” Edjar looked a little more smug than hopeless. Ouro made a face, and Fenn avoided looking at her.

“Dwemer chains.” She offered. “I’ve seen them before.”

“How are they undone?” Fenn asked her.

“A specific type of key, usually…”

“Yes. The vampires had keys. That was how they moved us.” Edjar confirmed, nodding, perking up a little at last. “You bring me a key, and I will tell you whatever you want to know. I’ll even tell you how to get in. Not that you’d ever get out again, but…if that’s the information you want…”

“How about we bring you food and water, allow me to take some samples, get you healed up, and then once you have the key, you can tell us the rest.” Fenn snapped his notebook shut.

“Fine. Be quick about it, though.”

“Do you keep your notebook _holstered_ somewhere?” Ouro asked with a small laugh once they were well away from Edjar’s camp.

“It’s prudent to always be ready to jot something down, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She shook her head, still smiling.

“I wish I had more notes about those chains, though.” Fenn sighed.

Where they were supposed to find a key was anyone’s guess. There were miles of Dwemer facilities down there and no guarantee that rifling through one or five or ten would get them what they wanted.

“Do you _have_ a Dwemer key?” Ouro asked, knowing the answer already.

“I…do not.” They started up the slope to the lodgings.

“I thought as much.” She sighed. “I’m fetching the key, aren’t I?”

“You’re very resourceful, and I have every confidence in you.” He shot her an apologetic grin.

“You won’t be smiling so much if I can’t find one.”

“I’m aware of the risks.” He opened the door, ushering her inside, before coming in and closing it. “As _I’m_ the healer and the alchemist, though, it seemed only natural for you to acquire that piece of the plan, so to speak.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Fenn.” Ouro chuckled. In truth, without Fenn tagging along being fascinated and in awe of every nut and bolt, she had a better chance of covering more ground and therefore finding a key.

“Just…watch out for Falmer, or especially stealthy vampires, or those…enormous insects…” He _actually_ looked a bit worried for her, and it was disconcertingly endearing. Such behavior from anyone else had never been tolerated. Perhaps this little solo jaunt would be good for Ouro to clear her head.

“I appreciate your concern for my well-being. I imagine I’m one of the scarier things down here, all things considered. At least when properly prepared.” She shrugged and crouched down to rummage through her bag.

“Unless you’re ambushed by a horde of Falmer.” Fenn walked back to where his equipment was. “Again.”

“Yes, thank you.” Ouro rolled her eyes. “This time, I’ll be much less distracted, though, so…” She halted. He _was_ a distraction, wasn’t he? That was not necessarily a good realization.

“I wonder if we might be able to get a set of those chains. What, precisely, is unbreakable about them? Is it an alloy or an enchantment? And what does the special key do that allows them to be opened?” He mused aloud. Ouro smiled to herself, enjoying the moments when she had a leg up on him when it came to knowing something about something.

“I suspect it has something to do with the tonal frequency the key emits. It must be inserted and give off a very specific tone for the lock to be undone. The enchantment-alloy _combination_ of the chain no doubt signals the key, which then, like tapping a tuning fork, gives off the tone…” She explained, pulling out the dagger from her bag that she’d been looking for. Met with silence, she looked up find Fennorian staring at her, mouth open.

“You’ve studied tonal architecture?” The admiration on his face made her feel quite nice, which did nothing to alleviate the distraction that he was.

“A little. I had some time on my hands at one point.”

“ _Some time_? By your definition, that could be anything. Days? Weeks?”

“I don’t know, thirty or forty years.” She shrugged, and he gaped some more. “In more recent years, I did know a scholar in Cyrodiil who specialized in the studies of all things Dwemer. She demonstrated a locking mechanism on a chest one time that worked as I described. Her research was absolutely riveting. Pity that she was married to a Tharn, though.” Ouro wrinkled her nose in distaste.

As Fenn bustled off to heal and feed their hairy new associate, Ouro wondered where to even begin. If the caverns were so saturated with the Gray Host, it seemed likely they’d already scoured the immediately available ruins for all usable parts.

She moved swiftly through the shadows, sometimes as mist, avoiding various potentially hostile creatures, and made excellent time. The first abandoned location she found, the door was jammed, but the damage made it easy enough to get through the cracks around it. She tore through every possible container, drawer, corner, hole, and crack, finding nothing.

The quietness that came with solitude settled over her. It was a more familiar state to her, especially in the last couple of centuries or so. It didn’t get lonely, keeping company with only herself. If she had social or physical needs, there were means to have them met. That was how things developed with Verandis. He was much, much older than her, and sensitive to such matters. Now that he was gone, Ouro found herself wishing that she’d been warmer toward him, perhaps. He might have been a better friend than she’d allowed him to be. He’d always tried, regardless of how detached she’d kept herself from possible emotional ties.

He’d succeeded though, hadn’t he? And in an unexpected way. His cleverness had led her back to Fennorian, someone who, with no effort at all, had done what Verandis could not. It was more than the young vampire’s kindness and candor; after all, his mentor had those traits as well. Fenn’s innocence, perhaps? Though he wasn’t naïve. He didn’t _want_ anything from her. He had no designs of acquiring power or even carnal conquest. Which, she likely would not have minded the latter, to be honest.

There was little use in attempting to maintain the internal charade, pretending she didn't...find him particularly appealing. Or rather, outright lying to herself about it. He was distracting and fascinating. He felt things, and apparently, it was contagious. Ouro knew his face and how it changed when he smiled, his subtleties, the way his hair fell, and how his ears poked through it. His long, lean body, the lines of hands…

“Damn you, Verandis.” She muttered to herself, then sat against the edge of a table. The count had known precisely what he was doing when he wrote her that letter. It wasn’t what Fenn made her feel between her legs that had any bearing on things, but the way she felt about herself when she was with him. She felt…comfortable. Normal, even. Or at least what she assumed normal might feel like. She could be around him and not feel the need to remain poised for defense. It was even easy to be close to him in physical proximity, they’d been sharing a bed, for fuck’s sake. In the last few hundred years, she’d _slept_ beside exactly no one.

“Shit.” She shook her head at herself. Fenn’s head was buried in books, full of formulas and solutions and none of this nonsense. He hadn’t a clue the effect he had. It was probably better that way. Ouro felt stupid for feeling anything. For wanting. She had rules about this sort of thing for a reason. “There are no keys here or in any other ruin.” She told the empty room.

Ouro knew where she was guaranteed to find one, and it was a good thing Fenn wouldn’t be along for the ride.


	9. Just A Little Blood

Most of the Gray Host patrols in the Lightless Hollow were comprised of a pair of vampires and at least one hideous abomination that may at one time have been a canid of some variety. No bears so far, at least that Ouro could see. There were no workers chained out again, of course, since that would have been much too convenient.

She moved about cautiously, ensuring she didn’t leave too much of a magical trace. The signature she left behind would draw _very_ unwanted attention, unfortunately. In the midst of a band of Riders, it was less apparent, they were a mass of oddities, but creeping alone around militant vampires that appeared to be organizing for some sort of uprising, one could not be too careful.

Something universally true about groups of vampires, militant or otherwise, was that any of them that were exposed were also the most expendable. This group was no different. Old vampires moved and reacted differently; the ones posted as guards outside this facility still behaved like mortals. Expendable meant younger, which meant less experienced, and it was probable that they weren’t exactly tactical geniuses. Those individuals were coveted by elder, high ranking vampires, after all, and kept stowed away, safe and sound.

Finally, there was one lone guard, shuffling his feet a bit, looking bored. It seemed unlikely the watch was eventful, considering their only threats were large subterranean insects and perhaps someone who wandered away from Dusktown. He appeared youngish, ruddy hair, probably had never had an independent thought in his life. On a whim, Ouro decided to test her intelligence theory, and from her hiding spot, she tossed a small rock.

He whirled around at the sound of the impact, peering into the darkness. _Ah, the foolishness of youth._ He crept in her direction, and her hand sat lightly on the hilt of the dagger strapped to her hip. It was her favorite for such endeavors. Not every situation called for magic, after all.

Perched on a small ledge above the guard’s head, Ouro waited for him to pass, then dropped down soundlessly. A tap on the shoulder got his attention, and he turned. She buried the blade full-length up under his chin, and he dropped like a stone, dagger still in place. The silver alloy had been forged with enchantments of her own making. Vampires were vulnerable to the metal, to begin with, but this acted as a paralytic as well.

“This is why they put you outside.” She whispered to him, rifling through his pockets for a key. After checking and double-checking, there was no key. “Damn.” Sighing, Ouro grabbed the handle of the dagger and withdrew it. Its effects remained in place, and the edges of the wound started to smolder and then spread, like the spark along a fuse.

In a matter of seconds, the vampire was dead. It was as merciful a kill as she could manage with that blade. When she wanted them to suffer, she simply gave them a small cut near their feet instead.

After an hour of fruitless prowling, at last, another guard was caught by himself. It really said something about them that they hadn’t noticed the other one never came back. In a moment of impatience, Ouro flung the dagger, and it embedded between the guard’s shoulders. He fell flat on his face, and she strolled up to him. Just as she crouched down, there was an alarmed shout.

“Damn it.” She’d failed to notice the incoming patrol that rounded the Dwemer tower’s crumbling corner. Was she losing her touch? _No_. She was still distracted. They were moving fast, but she was faster. Snatching the dagger out of the prone vampire’s back, which ignited him, she leapt up, dissolving to mist, and moved to flank the new attackers.

The slim, rat-faced one stayed in place, staring dumbly as Ouro reformed, the other was smarter and darted out of the way. Her preferred short sword materialized in her hand, and with one swift swipe, the vampire’s head and body neatly parted company. Some wounds even _they_ could not come back from.

The second was a lumbering hulk of a man, and he took her head-on, one hand balled into a fist, a knife in the other. He swung clumsily, and she dodged. It was a second too late that she realized he’d been fumbling intentionally, and he drove his dagger into the exact same spot the Falmer blade had. It was still sore due to lingering effects of the poison, and Ouro bit back a cry, unleashing a blast that knocked the ogrelike assailant backward and to the ground.

She was being _too_ careful, perhaps. Her reluctance to use her skills and abilities to their fullest potential was hamstringing her. Ouro pulled the knife from where it had been plunged into her side and flung it at its owner, catching him in the neck where he lay, making violent and surprised gurgling noises. Approaching, she bared her teeth then gave him a low kick between the legs before crouching down with a wince. His pockets, too, were empty. A quick nick of her blade on his cheek, and he joined his compatriot in crispiness. There’d be nothing left of him or his comrades but metal buckles and blades.

Ouro double-checked that there were no _other_ patrols and approached the remaining corpse. Around what was left of his neck was a key on a chain. Conveniently without a head, she merely bent and picked it up, verifying that it was Dwemer, and pocketed it. She collected the head, placed it with the body, and a small swipe later, he, too, was ash.

It wasn't the cleanest job she'd ever done, but it undoubtedly had saved her countless hours.

* * *

Fenn was on a stool at the counter when Ouro returned, hunched over a broad spread of bottles and vials. There was an alchemical cloud hovering near the ceiling over his head and her nostrils flared at the acerbic combination of reagents and what she could only assume was werewolf. He was absorbed in the analysis of the samples and didn’t look up. She pulled over the other stool and sat beside him. The awkward angle of reaching into her pocket, made her wince as the wound was not yet healed. That got his attention.

“You’re hurt…?”

“I’m fine.” She put the key on the countertop, Fenn glanced at it, wrinkled his nose, then gave her a level stare.

“There’s blood on this key.” Well, he was bound to figure it out at some point.

“Looks clean to me.” She shrugged, and he turned it over, revealing the dried blood. “Pish. It’s only a little.” With her sleeve, she rubbed it clean. “There.”

“I thought we agreed you were looking through the Dwemer ruins for a key and _avoiding_ the Gray Host.” He gave a small sigh, and Ouro frowned. Judging time was a little dicey once in a while, but she didn’t forget entire conversations.

“I made no such agreement.”

“What? Of course you…”

“Did you think it in your head again and forget to make it into words?” She couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up as he deflated a little, tapping his fingers idly on the counter.

“I might have.” Fenn picked the key up, then turning it over in his hand some more, and peered closely at the intricate details. “I apologize, I suppose I was a bit distracted.” He was becoming so again. “It seems so ordinary, besides its Dwemer aesthetic.”

“Happens to the best of us.” She clapped him on the back then growled. The wound had reopened, an issue she had not previously experienced.

“You _are_ hurt.” He pushed back his stool and stood up. “It’s the same spot where that Falmer got you, isn’t it?”

“It’s fine, I just need to stop moving around for a bit. I’ll go lay down until it’s done, or something.” Ouro didn’t feel much like being fussed over but knew it was inevitable.

“I’d thought I’d eradicated every last speck of poison. Apparently, I’d missed some… _or_ there were properties to hinder you that I hadn’t identified. How very interesting.” He stroked his chin, looking at her but not really looking at her. He was off somewhere in his head.

“You are much too happy about that.”

“I need to know. Come upstairs and take off your clothes.”

It didn’t matter that she knew what he meant; those words strung together in that order from his mouth still caught her off guard. Her face must have reflected it because he scoffed.

“For _science_ , Ouro. Goodness, what _else_ would I ask you to undress for?” He smiled good-naturedly and shook his head at the preposterousness of the notion, but Ouro glared at him. She might have been very old, but she was still a woman. Getting up, she scowled and gave his arm a hard pinch. “Ow! What was that for?”

“I will take care of my own wound.” She stared forward as she climbed the steps, and he rubbed his arm, looking confused.

Ouro pulled roughly on the straps of her jacket, undoing them in a huff. This inexplicable, _Fennorian_ -induced vibrantly colored existence came with emotions that undulated and changed from one hour to the next. Was this how mortals experienced their minuscule lives? She’d never given it much thought before. Was their time so short that they were forced to feel all these things in such rapid succession? That would certainly explain a lot of the more pointless wars she had seen.

It was tempting to ask Fenn about the emotional states of the living since probably less than a year ago, he’d been amongst them. Unfortunately, it would make him ask questions, too, and she didn’t quite know how to explain that she’d never really been alive.

Stubbornly and without assistance, Ouro peeled herself out of her leathers whilst a sharp grating feeling radiated from her side. There was something in there, it was the only explanation that seemed logical. Standing in nothing but loose linen shorts and her chest wrap, she picked up her ordinary, but sharp, knife. It wasn’t the first time she’d needed to dig a piece of something out of a vampire. Usually, though, it wasn’t herself. Clenching her jaw, she made the cut, the air hissing out between her teeth as she started to feel around.

“Ouro, I realize that what I said must’ve sounded…” Fenn was coming up the stairs. He got to the top, saw the blood running down her side to her hip, and was over in a blink. He snatched the knife from her. “Ouro! _What_ are you _doing_?”

“I think there must be a shard of a Falmer blade in there, it’s the only spot that isn’t healing correctly.” She took deep breaths. There weren’t many things that bothered her, but cutting into her own flesh that way was one of them.

“Come here and lie down. I’ll do this properly. I don’t care how many centuries you’ve lived, you’re no surgeon.”

“You’re not wrong there.” She lay on her left, watching him as he knelt beside the bed to do his work. Ouro’s muscles strained from the pain of a rapidly healing wound being reopened repeatedly, trying to keep still. She’d been run through more than once and somehow this was worse.

“Did anyone see you?” Fennorian asked.

“The one with the key did.” She sucked in her breath, wincing. “Briefly.”

“Did anyone _else_ see you?”

“Three of his friends.” She _nearly_ laughed at the look he gave her. “Also, briefly.” There was a long stretch of silence as he examined her hack job.

“So, what was it?”

“A fucking knife, what do you _think_ it was?” She snapped, but he smirked.

“No, your fight. Out of ten.” He was remarkably calm, all things considered.

“Oh. Five, I suppose. Though that’s being rather generous. It was sloppy work at most.”

“Really?”

“I haven’t been at my best lately, I suppose.” Her eyes were fixed on his face.

“Why not?”

“Not sure.” It was a half mumbled half-lie, as she was starting to feel tired. She moved to shrug, but Fenn put a hand on her ribs to hold her still. “Been…distracted.”

“By the expansive majesty of these caverns? I admit they _are_ awe-inspiring.” He gave her a small smile.

“No.” Ouro’s eyes were feeling heavy, and judging by the heat she could feel emanating from Fenn’s palm, it was something he was doing. He glanced at her, as though expecting her to elaborate, but she didn’t. It was getting difficult to fight the drowsiness, her head felt fuzzy, and her vision began to blur. “Don’t you have more important things to do than rifling through my guts?” The pain was little more than a dull ache now.

“This very minute?” He met her eyes again and shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

“I’m sorry you have to see this.” She almost closed her eyes, but still fought it.

“See…what?”

“Me…I’m…just…” She sighed as a strange, sad sort of feeling settling on her, one that was entirely unfamiliar. “I’m an old woman…”

There were other female Blood Riders who were stunning and sultry. _Why_ was she thinking about this? They drew the eyes of many. Seduction was so often associated with vampires, but Ouro felt that the trait had skipped her. She’d never possessed power over the desires of others. Always she was careful about dalliances because of what she was; she chose her partners cautiously, the few that there were. There was no one flocking to her bed, not that she wished there was because she didn’t. Though, she wasn’t especially inviting.

“I’m decrepit, remember?” Vaguely, she was aware that the usual checks and balances that occurred between her mind and her mouth had vanished. The smart thing to do would have been to _stop_ talking and simply let the sleep come.

“What are you talking about?” Fennorian frowned. “You’re beautiful.” She must have looked skeptical because his frown deepened. “I mean that.” He exhaled a long breath. “Is this because of what I said earlier? That was…a poorly executed jest, I apologize. I never intended to make you feel…bad…” He paused as his ability to articulate became about as useful as Ouro’s was just then. “You really ought to stop resisting and go to sleep, it will make you feel better. And it will make you quiet.”

“I _am_ being quiet.” She blinked slowly, still feeling the warmth of his compliment…or whatever spell he was doing to manage her pain. She wasn’t sure.

“Yes, well, now _you’re_ distracting _me_ , so…” He reached out and lightly touched her face, and unconsciousness came whether she wanted it to or not.

Ouro jolted awake from the dreamless sleep as she was jostled and gasped, flailing a little, grabbing hold of whatever was available.

“It’s alright, it’s just me.” Fennorian all but dropped her. He’d moved her back over to her side, but was now stuck, hovering over her with one knee on the bed as she gripped his arms.

“Did you find it?” It _was_ the logical thing to ask, lying there, staring up at him.

“Yes, you were right. There was a fragment of the blade, moving about in there, keeping you from healing. You should be good now. Is there any pain?”

“No.” Ouro shook her head. _Say something else_. But what? _Not the weather_. Instead, realizing she was holding on, she let go of him.

“Good…I’m glad.” He nodded. “Here, let me…” Fenn slid his hand beneath her shoulders, fingers splayed across her back, and lifted her toward him a little, tugging the pillow down. He was so close, and she was hanging on again. He froze, and they stared at each other for what was definitely an inordinate amount of time. Perhaps they were both having an internal argument.

Fenn swallowed nervously, and his gaze lowered to her lips. Every fiber of Ouro seemed to be electric and part of her was sure he was going to do something, they couldn’t stay like that forever, poised in their mutual inability to say anything.

Fuck it. Ouro leaned up and a knock sounded on the door downstairs. Surely whatever gods were watching were having quite the laugh. She let go and he let her lay back on the pillow.

“I’ll answer that…” Fenn started. She nodded, not trusting herself to say anything just then. He moved away a little. “In case it’s important.” She nodded again and watched him get off the bed. Clearing his throat, he straightened his shirt a bit, then marched down the stairs.

Ouro put her hands over her face, squeezing her eyes tight uncertain if she wanted to scream because of the knock or if it had, in reality, saved her. She rolled over, face down, and groaned in frustration into the pillow.

She pushed herself up suddenly, though. Who was at the door at this hour? Whatever hour it was. Was that girl from the Ravenwatch back again? She’d better not be. The sound of two male voices reassured her that it wasn’t. The door closed downstairs, and in mild panic, she grabbed the blanket, quickly pulling it up, then faced the wall. She heard the bolt slide into place and Fenn’s footsteps as he ascended the staircase once more.

“It was just the landlord come for the rent. Whatever extra you gave to that barkeep, he wasn’t aware of it, so, I certainly didn’t tell—” He’d stopped and was looking at her, she knew, his eyes boring into her back, and she hoped she appeared to be asleep. He wasn’t an idiot, though; he would _know_ she wasn’t. “If you need anything…I…I’m just downstairs.” Was he disappointed? Did he think she was shunning him? What should she have done? What was the right answer?!

This. _This_ was why there were rules. Ouro listened to him go back down to his reagents and samples and heard the scrape of the stool as he got back to work. She flopped onto her back, letting out an exasperated breath.

Regret.

She shouldn’t have turned away; she should have done what she _wanted_. But what then?


	10. Misgivings

It was a genuinely hideous thing. Ouro and Fennorian stood side by side, staring down at the foul-smelling, fungus-like plant. It was roughly the size of a large goose egg and covered in prickly growths with bioluminescent veins and nodules.

“I think this is it.” Fenn murmured, opened his notebook, scribbled something, then made a quick sketch of the thing.

“If that…odor…is any indication, I agree. It’s familiar.” It was a potent, nauseating smell, almost making her eyes water.

“Clearly, it’s the source of the _extra stink_ , as you put it, coming from Edjar.” Fenn was alight with anticipatory excitement. “I detected a high saturation of the same reagent in his blood and tissue samples as one of the yet unidentified compounds from those harrowstorm witch pikes.” He tucked the notebook away, fishing a small leather pouch from his satchel. Flipping back the flap revealed several delicate, strange-looking instruments, all of which were sharp. “Ideally, I need the whole thing, in case they are only using a certain part of it.” Fenn crouched, then after some consideration, selected one of the tools for an unspecified reason. Gently, he poked at the plant.

“It’s going to be an unhappy day if that thing shoots spores into your face.” Ouro crossed her arms, doing her best not to gag. Immediately he leaned back but went on with the prodding.

“Doesn’t seem to be exuding anything airborne, other than its stench. Nothing is oozing, either.” Using another tool, to ensure he didn’t touch the nasty plant with his skin, he pulled it up. It came out of the rocky soil more easily than expected.

“Did you bring a container?”

“That would have been the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it?” He looked up at her as she shook her head.

“Here, drop it into my hand.” Ouro crouched beside Fenn, and though he looked dubious, he did as instructed. Before it could touch her, a rippling sort of bubble appeared around it.

“Brilliant.” Fenn grinned. “You’re more useful all the time.” He paused though, looking aghast. “Not that you’re around for use…for using…I was just…”

“I know what you meant.” A little amused, she handed him his prize in its safe, airtight orb, rising and brushing off her hands. “That’ll at least keep the odor contained.”

“Thank you…I’ve been wracking my brain for reasons they are using this on pikes as well as injecting solutions into Edjar and his pack.” He mused.

“I suppose the best way to get those answers would be to wheedle more information from our hirsute new friend.” The prospect of having to interview the cantankerous werewolf again was not appealing. Not that he could be blamed for being so…unwelcoming.

“I’m beginning to suspect that they’re making some sort of derivative that perhaps gives the imbiber resistance.” Fenn put the plant into his satchel.

“Resistant to what?” Ouro glanced around them, much more vigilant than some of their previous outings.

“The harrowstorms, I think.” He shrugged and stood up. “They must be protecting themselves from them somehow.”

“Yes, of course…” She wasn’t entirely paying attention. A distant sound had gotten her attention. “We should probably move along. There’s something lurking around, and I’m not especially keen on having another go with Falmer poison.”

“Yes, let’s get back. I’ve _got_ to get started on this!” Judging by his level of excitement, one would have thought he’d been handed a puppy rather than rancid fungus.

Their day had started just the same as every other day since this _arrangement_ had been made. A week had gone by already since Ouro’s arrival in Blackreach. Usually, the passage of time would have meant nothing, but she found herself acutely aware of it lately. No mention was made of her ridiculous, wanton attempt at…whatever that was last night, and Fenn behaved no differently. It had been the right thing not to…move forward, despite the protestations of certain parts of her.

It would have been irresponsible to start something with him. Where it had been easy to remain detached with others, that would not be the case with Fennorian. That was assuming he had any interest at all whatsoever. She could have made a complete fool of herself the night before. All the better that her half-cocked overture did not come to fruition.

Ouro needed to sort out the benefits of remaining in Blackreach with Fennorian and the possible repercussions of leaving. He needed to stay alive, which she could help with… _if_ she would focus. What would leaving accomplish? Fennorian would be by himself to do his work with no one to help him. But she might then have the distance she needed to put him back at arm’s length where he, and everyone else, for that matter, belonged. Was her peace of mind worth more than the mortal lives inhabiting Western Skyrim?

“Once you’ve squeezed every last bit of information out of Edjar, and he’s told you how to get in, do you intend to actually go _into_ that place?” She looked up at him, already knowing that was exactly what he was likely to do.

“As it stands, I see no other choice. It’s not ideal, but until some other viable course of action comes to light…”

They’d been spotted enough around Dusktown in the last week that the other residents seemed content to ignore them, something both Ouro and Fenn were grateful for. As they made their way back to the lodging, someone even nodded hello.

“I think going in there alone would be _very_ ill-advised, Fennorian.” She opened the door and went inside with him close on her heels.

“Well…I was hoping you’d be coming with me.” He pulled a large, wide-mouthed jar from one of the many crates strewn about the first floor, then carefully deposited his acquisition into it before fastening a lid into place.

“I _meant_ the two of us going in there alone.” This discussion already had the potential to skirt certain topics that Ouro was not in any way ready to discuss.

“I trust your abilities to keep us safe. You’re an incredible fighter as well as a gifted mage.” He stepped up to her, frowning a little, no doubt at the uncharacteristic apprehension suddenly coursing through her.

“Fenn…”

“I don’t know anyone else who could have handled those Falmer the way you did.” He smiled, trying to be reassuring. She was sure, though, that if they went in with no one else, it would be no different than if she went in by herself.

“It isn’t some tomb with a few Draugr or grave robbers to contend with. It’s a laboratory run by someone with no regard for others’ suffering while they achieve their own ends. I have _seen_ such places.” The short list of things Ouro sincerely feared included becoming a curiosity that some madman was interested in dissecting.

“I understand the gravity of that, but what other option do we have?”

“Utilize my Riders. All I need is ten, and I could wipe out that entire cavern of hostile creatures.” She had plenty of evidence now to give Tesgrim regarding what was going on in Skyrim and Blackreach. That was all he needed to send them in.

“Are there any close by besides you?”

“It doesn’t matter where we are, we’re able to get anywhere we need quickly.” It involved ripping holes in time and space, but there were a great many people who employed portals regularly.

“The Ravenwatch are already here, all I have to do is contact them.” Fenn laid a hand on her shoulder as though touch would somehow convince her.

“Yes, but they aren’t…” Ouro stopped before she could say something that might upset him. She’d trusted Verandis and the way he operated and managed his family, but they were not the Riders. Fennorian’s adopted siblings were skilled and could get jobs done well, but they just…didn’t make her comfortable with the idea of an undertaking with this much risk. The Ravenwatch always had and always would lack the relentless ruthlessness and efficiency she and her own people inflicted upon whatever they’d come up against.

“They aren’t what?”

“They just…aren’t my Riders. I’ve had lifetimes to perfect the way we work together…” How could she explain that the familial bond between Fennorian and the others could be a weakness that would undo them? It was painful when a Rider went down, but the loss never endangered their objectives.

“You don’t think the Ravenwatch could back us up.” Fenn’s brows drew together, and his hand slid off Ouro’s shoulder.

“I didn’t say that…”

“Maybe not directly.” He folded his arms, which was never a good sign. She sighed heavily.

“Can you blame me for wanting the support of people I know will have my back?”

“Do you assume you wouldn’t matter to the Ravenwatch as you would your riders?” His face did a great many things, and it was difficult to tell if he was angry or trying to understand what she was feeling.

“You are their brother, and I heard Verandis often enough touting that family is most important. So, yes…I believe they would take little issue with allowing me to be collateral damage.” If Ouro were taken, and if the Gray Host poked and prodded enough before killing her, Western Skyrim would have a great deal more to worry about than they already did.

“It is disappointing that you have so low an opinion of us.” Fenn’s shoulders slumped a little as he took a step back.

“I don’t…that’s not…” She let out a frustrated sound, rubbing her face. “They wouldn’t trust me…”

“It would be enough for them that I trust you. Implicitly.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I think that I do.”

“There are more than six hundred _years_ of _things_ you don’t know about me.”

“Six hundred years of things aren’t _who_ you are, are they?”

“Who am I, then?” Now Ouro crossed her own arms.

“You helped a scrambling scholar who’d spilled his ink, and you didn’t laugh. You came when I was sitting in a shack, almost starving to the point of losing control. You didn’t have to help me…”

“That’s me, then? All summed up?”

“Not at all.” If he hadn’t been so sincere, she’d have laughed him out of the cavern itself. “You risked your life, too. The Falmer could have killed you that day, your injuries _were_ severe.”

“So, I’m very helpful.” She exhaled a somewhat impatient breath.

“You’re a woman, not a service, one who is amused by quick wit, and against all odds still feels things about the world. I _watched_ you in complete awe of the cavern’s beauty with tears in your eyes, Ouro. You value scholarly pursuits, but you love novels, too. You’re funny, and you’re kind.” He paused for a moment, just watching her, and Ouro didn’t know what to say. What she’d expected to be a laughable rundown of skills and facts was a good deal more than that. “You’ve kept me safe…and I sleep…” Fenn halted and swallowed, a small war happening with himself plainly on his face. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he steeled himself. His voice grew quieter. “I’ve slept soundly here…without being… _terrorized_ by my own mind.” She couldn’t bring herself to look away from him, and he whispered, voice shaking, “That’s never happened, not since…”

Ouro was wholly derailed, and perhaps in shock even. It would have been a lie to contradict him, and downright cruel even, a thing she could never bring herself to be, especially to him.

“If I didn’t know you…I wouldn’t feel that.” Boldly, he stopped her from looking away. “And there’s a great deal more that I don’t know yet.” _Yet._

“But I don’t know _you_.” She had inexplicably revealed so much about herself to Fennorian while he’d stayed safely behind his walls, not that she could blame him.

“Do you want to?”

It was the sort of question that was more difficult to ask than almost any other. He’d stepped out from behind the barriers, exposed, unprotected. Staring up at his face, she waged her own war. If she said no, he would be irrevocably wounded, their friendship would die, and all those things she feared would be summarily nipped in their buds. It ached to even entertain the thought.

“Yes.” The answer came well before she’d finished deliberating, but it was what she wanted, even if it wasn’t the most prudent, self-preserving option.

Now what? _Now fucking what?!_ All the rules were broken, the careful checks and balances that had ensured her comfortable homeostasis were shattered and flung to the wind. Ouro looked down at her hands as she fidgeted, taking off her gloves.

“As…nice as these revelations are…it doesn’t change how I feel about going into that place, Fenn…”

“I understand that you…” Fenn came close, taking her by the shoulders, and she flinched, unexpectedly. He let go immediately and took a step back. “Forgive me…Ouro, I shouldn’t have…”

“It isn’t you.” She reassured him. When she thought about the atrocities committed in laboratories, the idea of being touched made her skin crawl. “I want to help you; I _want_ to go with you to find out what they’re doing. But I won’t go in without my Riders. If we do, they will catch us, and they will _take us apart_. That is what these kinds of vampires do.”

“You’re speaking from experience.” Fennorian sobered considerably.

“I told you about the man who forced my mother to turn, and what happened to him.” She took a deep breath, unsettled by speaking freely about something so private. He didn’t need more explanation than that.

“Yes, I remember.” He nodded.

“I care about helping you stop this threat, but how much help will we be if we’re captured or dead? We have to do this right.”

“I understand. I apologize if I was being forceful…”

“That was you being forceful?” Ouro smirked.

“Well, no…I suppose not, but I don’t want you to think that I was.” He brushed some imaginary lint from his sleeve, shrugging.

“I don’t. I think mostly nice things about you, even if I don’t agree with you.”

Fenn nodded, relieved, but his head snapped up. “ _Mostly?_ ” He frowned, concerned.

“There’s nothing bad, don’t worry.” She tried not to look too amused.

“What’s good but not nice?” His bewilderment was a delightful palate cleanser after such seriousness. Ouro simply smiled at him though. He was smart, he’d figure it out.

“I’d better go get my things.”

There wasn’t much, just one bag was all she had there that was hers. It had been pleasant, this strange little week they’d had. Well, minus the stabbings and the poison. Back downstairs, Fennorian was setting out various dishes and instruments for his analysis of the smelly plant. She was _not_ disappointed that she wouldn’t be there for that. There was a line between his furrowed brow, though, which he got when he was thinking.

“Are you going to Solitude first?” He asked without looking up.

“Yes.”

“Could I ask you to deliver a message for me?”

“You _could_.”

He gave her a level look. “ _Will_ you deliver a message for me?” He handed her the message in question. “Please.”

“Certainly. Where to?”

“Lyris, and her associate, Savien. He’s a…mildly disconcerting, but very helpful Breton fellow. I’d check local taverns first.” Fenn stroked his chin.

“Alright, I’ll see to it that they get it. It shouldn’t be more than two or three days before I get back.” She told him, then emphasized every word with a strong poke to his chest. “Do _not_ under _any_ circumstances go into _that_ facility _alone_.”

“Alright, alright…you have my word. I bid you safe travels.” He smiled, and being particularly terrible at saying goodbye, Ouro simply nodded and headed for the door. She opened it, but behind her, she heard Fenn gasp suddenly. When she looked over her shoulder, he was staring at her, looking scandalized, but not altogether displeased. He opened his mouth to speak, but she grinned and closed the door before he could.


	11. Duplicity

The Lonely Troll was busy at that time of night. The dull roar of conversation, cups clinking, dishes scraping, and raucous laughter made anything specific difficult to pick out. However, in one of the dimmer corners, Ouro spotted a hooded figure sitting beside an axe nearly the same size as he was. It was a safe bet to assume that this was the Breton called Savien, who Fenn had mentioned and that it was Lyris’s axe he was sitting next to.

He narrowed his eyes at her as she approached, and the rough wooden chair creaked as he leaned back.

“A Blood Rider.” Wisely, he kept his voice low. “Been a long time since I’ve seen or heard about any of you.”

“That’s how we like it.”

“So, you’re the _good hands_ Lyris left our little scholar in?” He had a weathered, but handsome face, and a demeanor that meant he knew it.

“The same.” Ouro gave him a small smile. He was a friend of Fenn, so there was no reason not to be nice. “Where is Lyris, anyway? Can’t be far.” She nudged the massive axe blade with her toe.

“Stepped out, ah…”

“Had to see a man about a mammoth?” She offered.

“Something like that.” Savien grinned. “I’d buy you a drink, but…well…”

“It’s a little-known fact that we do actually enjoy spirits.” Ouro pulled out a chair and took a seat as he motioned to the barmaid. “Those of us with taste, anyway.”

“Well, in that case…” He flashed a dazzling smile at the pretty young maid who turned pink. “Would you be so kind as to fetch a bottle of…” He squinted at Ouro for a brief moment. “…whiskey, and a cup, for my friend here.”

“Impressive.” She folded her arms, amused. “Is guessing a person’s liquor of choice a popular party trick of yours?”

“It comes in handy here and there.” He arched one eyebrow, and Ouro could guess exactly when it came in handy. He noticed the barmaid hadn’t left. “Please?” His tone wasn’t asking for a drink, and Ouro shook her head.

“Yes, of course.” The barmaid’s cheeks got redder when Savien gave her a wink before she flounced off at last.

“You just get what _ever_ you want, don’t you?” Ouro chuckled, and he feigned indignance.

“I thought I was getting _you_ what you want.” He smirked, though. The approach of heavy boots interrupted them.

“Oh, it’s you.” Lyris looked a little surprised as she sat back down. She grabbed her mead mug. “Is Fenn with you?”

“No, he’s working on analyzing a piece of fungus that’s probably important,” Ouro replied, and then nodded to the flushed barmaid who had returned with the cup and bottle. Of course, she looked nowhere but at Savien.

“Anything else?”

“Not right now, thank you.” He flashed that smile again, and she grinned before hurrying away.

“Stop that.” Lyris rolled her eyes. “One of these days, all these barmaids are going to meet each other, then you’re in trouble.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ how it is.” Ouro uncorked the whiskey bottle and poured herself some. Lyris frowned, looking confused as she sipped the potent beverage. It wasn’t the best whiskey she’d had, but it would do. She had no plans for more than just this one anyway.

“They _can_ drink spirits, you know,” Savien informed Lyris, as though he hadn’t just found out about it himself.

“Huh. Interesting. Learn something new every day.” Giving a nod, the half-giantess drained her mug, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve before setting it back down. “So why are you back up here? I can’t imagine he’s going to fend too well for himself alone.” He’d fend for himself well enough as long as he kept away from those vampires.

“He asked me to give you this.” Ouro pulled out the message and slid it across the table to Lyris.

“Urgent?” She asked.

“He didn’t say.”

“Ah, okay.” Lyris tucked the message away, and cleared her throat, but didn’t say anything, instead waving her mug at someone at the bar. “I, uh…I wanted to say I’m sorry for trying to put my axe through you that day. It was brash, but…it had been a trying few days.”

“Not to worry. Fenn told me you wanted to make him a head shorter, too, at first.” Ouro shrugged nonchalantly. “I generally don’t hold it against people who try to kill me unless it’s personal. You’re certainly not the first.”

“Did you fight?” Savien perked up, looking from Ouro to Lyris and back again.

“No, I…moved out of the way, and matters were cleared up shortly thereafter.” Ouro sipped her whiskey. The more she had, the less she liked it. Unrefined swill. When had she become such a snob?

Lyris seemed a bit uncomfortable, and it undoubtedly had to do with sitting at a table with a vampire. Ouro was fresh out of conversation, anyway.

“Well, I cannot stay, I’m afraid. I have somewhere to be.” Draining her cup in one go, she set it back down and got to her feet. “Pleasure meeting you, and thank you for the drink.” She smiled at the roguish Breton, and he stood, putting his hand out, so she shook it.

“Savien, by the way.”

“Ouro Aduen.” She almost laughed aloud when his swagger vanished, and the look of shock wiped the cocky smirk off his face.

“You’re _that_ Rider.” He murmured.

“I am.” She patted his shoulder. “Good to meet you, though.”

“Likewise…how…ah, how does Fenn know you, then?”

“Didn’t you know? _We_ _all_ know each other, of course.” It was nearly impossible to keep a straight face when he frowned.

“You’re screwing with me.”

“Yes, I am.” Ouro chuckled in amusement. “We’re friends. It’s a wide, wide world of strange people crossing paths with other strange people.”

“But…how does someone as young and…new as he is get a friend like you?”

“Not real keen on boundaries, are you?”

“So I’m told.”

“Friendship comes in all shapes and sizes, Savien.” Ouro shook her head, still smiling, though. He could fish all he liked.

“Oh, so _that’s_ how it is.” Savien’s shit-eating smirk had returned abruptly as he repeated Ouro’s own words back to her.

“How what is?” Lyris looked up with a perplexed frown.

Savien grinned at her. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“I’ll feed you my axe, little man.” She glared at him, reaching for the handle of said axe.

“I believe you, I believe you!” He put his hands up in mock surrender.

“Anyway.” Ouro cleared her throat. “Lyris, enjoy your mead, Savien, enjoy the maid. Good evening to you both.” She turned and made for the door before they could delay her further.

Brazzelac looked up slowly and gave a snort from where he was tied as Ouro exited the tavern. The red in his eyes reflected a little in the lamplight. Disapproval, perhaps? How _dare_ she have five minutes of enjoyment?

“Don’t look at me like that.” She muttered as she untied him. He shook his mane and watched, with suspicion, as an especially drunk Nord tottered by, making his way around the building’s corner to relieve himself. Ouro sighed and got up into the saddle, tugging the reins a little and headed for the gate. It would take her about a day or so of hard riding to reach Falkreath, then make her way to Pale Pass. From there, she would reach the Enclave, gather her Riders, and portal back to Blackreach. At that point, it wouldn’t matter who noticed such magic, as it was her intent to wipe anything and everything vampiric out of the Lightless Hollow.

Keeping off main roads and cutting across fields and marshes cost Ouro time, but she still traveled faster than any mortal might have been capable of. It was the wee hours of the morning by the time she entered the pass. It hadn’t been used with any great regularity in some time, and with the war in Cyrodiil raging on as it was, there were always troops of whoever had recently captured Bruma camped out on the other side.

Rumors of hauntings and monsters kept the locals out, which may or may not have been intentionally perpetuated by the Riders. Hearing the subtle but certain sound of sapient beings ahead of her brought Ouro to a halt. Silently, she dismounted and gave Brazz a pat. Understanding, he disappeared into the shadows without so much as rustling the grass.

Dissolving to mist, she moved toward the faint sounds, catching the scent of fresh blood in the air. There was at least one dead mortal close and another that was bleeding. Ouro’s ears caught the ragged, frightened breath of a human woman. She moved closer and at last spotted them, a group of vampires. In the dark, out of their immediate reach, was the bound and gagged woman.

The group seemed to be having a disagreement, which was a convenient distraction as Ouro materialized beside their victim, her finger to her lips. The woman, a young, red-haired Nord, nodded vigorously. She’d been bitten more than once, but the vampires hadn’t taken much, apparently having gotten their fill on the two drained men a few feet away.

Cords of writhing black and red smoke slithered out of the darkness and started to take hold of the woman whose eyes grew large with fear, but Ouro put her hands out then put her finger to her lips once again. She grew still, and the tethers pulled her farther back into the darkness before a blanket of shadow wrapped around her, concealing her entirely. The Nord at least would be safe for however long it would take Ouro to dispatch these unwelcome guests.

The arguing went on, and she listened as they debated exactly how to follow some set of directions they’d been given. It became clear that they were looking for the entrance of the Enclave. As mist, again, Ouro drew nearer and got a better look. Their regalia was the same as the Gray Host members she’d killed for the Dwemer key.

What were they doing all the way out here? Did they seek to eradicate the Riders? The thought was laughable with so few of them. Or perhaps they’d come merely to spy and report back. Other organizations had been similarly foolish in the past. They could not walk in the day, though, and the sun would rise in about an hour. All she needed to do was keep them from finding cover, and the daylight would do the rest. Well, _if_ she didn’t kill them first. The odds were in her favor. Fighting fourteen surprise Falmer had been a bit rough, taking down what looked like only eleven vampires who weren’t aware of her presence…that was downright unfair. For them.

Two of them, women, were standing back a bit from the group talking quietly amongst themselves, and Ouro lingered at their backs. It took them an embarrassing amount of time to sense anything and the instant one turned to look over her shoulder, the tethers grasped them by the ankles and corporeal once more, Ouro removed their heads before they could scream.

Now there were nine. It was a group of four that was the most intent on arguing, and she was able to quietly pick off another straggler.

Eight.

“She’s gone.” One of the four who had been meandering had noticed the disappearance of their food, and it got the attention of the three who were not ensconced in deciphering whatever was on the parchment one of them held. Perhaps this would be easier than she thought.

But Ouro had counted her chickens before they’d hatched, and, in a blink, one of the arguers had vanished. _Damn_. He was smarter than the rest.

She was struck hard from behind and thrown, discorporating to mist before landing neatly on her feet in the middle of the vampires. This was decidedly less advantageous for her, but the odds were still better than being ambushed.

Ouro had a blade in each hand, flames licking the glinting metal, and one of the subordinates rushed her, unarmed. She sidestepped, and with a fluid motion, one blade passed through his neck with barely a whisper, and he collapsed.

“She’s a Rider, you idiots.” The one she’d surmised was the leader growled at them from behind her. He’d also been the one to fling her out of the shadows and into their midst. It was, at least, somewhat entertaining to see the others hesitate at the revelation of her station.

The subordinates were young, they were the expendable few brought along in case of trouble. A buffer between danger and the individuals they believed mattered more. Young vampires were enthralled with using their newfound power, and she watched, unimpressed, as they moved about at incredible speed. Believing her distracted, the elders attacked.

Six centuries of fighting had taught her to anticipate the movements and thoughts of vampires. Other creatures were less predictable, but these…her own kind, more or less, Ouro knew inside and out. She didn’t resort to mist to evade, it was simple enough to dodge when needed, avoiding claws, daggers, and teeth. Their mistake was thinking they had to fight like animals. It would cost them, and they would die like animals too.

“Tedious.” She sighed. Only the leader was left, lying at her feet, bleeding and glaring up.

“We are on the same side, we’re vampires, but you betray your own kind.” He coughed, blood running down his mouth.

“Being what we are doesn’t make us the same.”

“No.” He bared his fangs. “You’re domesticated. Cowed. Look at you.”

“Look at me.” Ouro scoffed but nodded. “Your friends are dead, and you’re soon to join them. I’m not sure what limitations you think we have, but we endure while the beasts do not.” She crouched down, looking him in the eye, his red gaze defiant. “The blade or the sun?” She asked quietly.

“Fuck you.” He spat blood at her face and shrugging, she cut off his head.

“Makes no difference to me.” She let out a long breath and took the head by the hair. Behind her, Brazzelac emerged, the frightened Nord woman, standing beside him, trembling. “You’d better get home. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here sooner.” Ouro gestured to the woman’s dead companions.

“The Riders in Red…” She whispered, looking haunted and bewildered.

“Go!” Ouro’s sharpness startled her, and she took off into the darkness.

These vampires had been uncomfortably close to the Enclave entrance. But they’d given her the physical evidence she would need if her word wasn’t enough, that there was something potentially catastrophic going on.

As was typical for this time of morning, the Enclave was quiet. Even Riders slept sometimes. Someone who didn’t sleep, though, was Tesgrim. Ouro passed through the main barracks, in an obvious hurry, but heard running footsteps behind her. Turning, a breathless page caught up.

“Ouro Aduen…” He panted. “I thought it was strange for a message to arrive for you…and…well, then I saw you…”

“What is it?” She felt uneasy all of a sudden, and he held out the folded letter, a generic seal of black wax holding it closed. “Thank you, you may go.” He grimaced a little at the severed head she carried, gave a small, polite bow, and sauntered off the way he’d come.

She peeled back the wax and opened it. The message was short but said everything it needed to. Her heart lodged itself in her throat.

_He’s missing. Foul play. –Sav_

A sick feeling washed over her, and beneath it stirred a roiling fury. Foul play meant Fennorian had been taken; he hadn’t gone into that place on his own. Why had they come for him? She folded the note and shoved it into her jacket, fingers feeling almost numb. They _hadn’t_ come for him; they were looking for _her_. She hadn’t been careful enough getting that damned key. This was on her.

“ _Fuck_.” She whispered, and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to pull herself together. She needed to be fully focused and clear-headed, and she needed her riders now more than ever to get him back. If they hadn’t already deemed him useless. The thought was like a knife in her chest.

Ouro broke out into a full run, making her way through the Enclave. The sentry outside Tesgrim’s door jumped and lurched backward suddenly as she skidded to a stop, the vampire’s head still in her hand.

“Is he in?” It was a snarl more than a question.

“Y-yes…”

“Alone?”

“That’s not my place to say…” He started, but his eyes widened as she nearly shoved the severed head into his face, then he nodded vigorously. What she didn’t need was to have to deal with any _guests_ Tesgrim might be entertaining. Ouro rolled her eyes and grabbed the door handle, entering without preamble.

“Tesgrim?” He wasn’t in the main room that served as entry and office. Closing the door hard behind her, she marched to the next room, his library. “Where _are_ you?” She was focused, she knew what needed to be done. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gone in to extract someone from their enemy’s clutches.

“Ouro?” He exited the bedchamber, a room she’d refused to enter for the last several hundred years. There was a flash of shock across his features, and then a frown as he noticed what she held. “Who is that?”

“My proof.” She was breathing hard. “The Gray Host is in Blackreach, and right now, they have my friend.” Ouro tossed the head at Tesgrim’s feet, and his lip curled back. “I found that one and ten others in the Pass, I think they were trying to get into the Enclave.” His disgust flashed into bald-faced shock.

“You killed them.” He murmured.

“Of course, I fucking killed them, Tesgrim, they’re monsters!” She shook her head. “You said to come back with evidence, and here it is. I need my Riders, and I need them now. We need to leave immediately.”

“To rescue your _friend_?”

“Yes, they _took_ him!” Her composure was slipping. “What more do you want? I brought you the head of one of them, they were trying to get in _here_.” He bent and picked up the head in his massive hand, looking at it for a moment, then his eyes moved to her. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Give the order, I need to _go_.”

Still, he stared at her.

“No.”


	12. Unfettered

Tesgrim looked pleased with himself as Ouro stared at him. His permission was a formality more than anything, and he’d granted it freely for much more frivolous requests than this. He’d never outright disregarded an impassioned plea before, particularly where lives were at risk. Long had the Blood Riders walked the line between helpfully maintaining the balance of their kind in Tamriel and mercenary work. After all, they could not live without mortal blood.

“I…what?” She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t? I recall being lectured at length about the word _no_.” He folded his arms as she still stood, looking dumbfounded.

“They’re _experimenting_ on people; they will dissect him for no reason other than not being on their side.” She heard the entry door open and close in the other room.

“We’re not interfering in Blackreach.” He said simply. Soren entered the room behind Ouro and didn’t look her in the eye when she glanced back.

“It’s not just Blackreach, the western holds _above_ ground are also affected by what they’re doing. Thousands of people could die…”

“Your presence there was unsanctioned, and I made that clear.” Tesgrim went on. “Whatever you and that Ravenwatch pup were up to…is of no consequence. Nor will it be.”

“The Gray Host is proving to be the biggest and most elaborate threat to the balance of our existence that we’ve ever seen, why would you not seek to root them out and crush the entire thing?” Her head ached in confusion. “If the threat spreads, it will unify the people across this continent, and they will find a way to annihilate our kind regardless of involvement with that campaign of madness.”

“You give the mortals too much credit.”

“Perhaps _you_ don’t give them _enough_.” Ouro looked to Soren again, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He remained silent, staring straight ahead. She sighed. “Don’t give orders then. I would be content to take volunteers.”

“We are _not_ interfering,” Tesgrim repeated, raising his voice. He would not bend, and he would not tell her why. Her only allies, then, would be Lyris and Savien. Obviously, all she was doing now was wasting time.

“Fine.” She hissed and turned to leave.

“Ouro.” He boomed and clenching her teeth, she looked back. “If you leave this Enclave, you will never set foot here again.” He’d given her a choice, no…he’d given her an ultimatum. The icy fingers of dread wrapped around her body. She could stand idly by while militant vampire lunatics and their werewolf cohorts tried to take over Tamriel, at the cost of countless thousands of innocent people…or she could give up the thing that she’d defined herself by for more than six centuries.

Tesgrim may have thought it was a choice, but there was only one acceptable option.

Ouro ripped the insignia from her shoulder before even having time to register what she was doing and shoved it at Soren’s chest. He stepped back to keep himself from stumbling, finally looking her in the eye, shock etched onto his face.

“Enjoy your promotion.” Her voice was ragged, and there was regret in his eyes. No doubt, he’d been directly or indirectly involved in reporting her activities underground. Without a backward glance, she left Tesgrim’s quarters, slamming the door.

The enormity of what had just happened loomed over her, but Ouro couldn’t focus on that, not yet. She could mourn later; the priority now was finding Fenn and getting him out of whatever hell they’d put him in.

She made her way deeper into the bowels of the Enclave, going down several levels to an eerily silent chamber. It was the scrying pool, and the dozens of candles strewn about flickered to life as she entered. The water lay flat as glass, inky black, reflecting nothing, not even the candlelight shone on its surface.

Ouro stepped up to the edge, her eyes on the void. It felt as if she balanced on a knife’s edge, her control held in place by gossamer threads of consciousness. Her mind cleared as she breathed deeply, the fog of chaos dissipating like mist in the sun. Only one thing mattered in that moment, and she reached out over the pool, her fingers splayed wide. A small ripple moved the surface of the water, quickly becoming still once more. It was ready.

She closed her eyes, pouring herself forth and through the scrying pool, opening its window to the world. It rippled again, the rings spreading outward from the center as she took another deep breath, then she whispered his name.

_Fennorian._

The sound of rushing wind filled her ears, but then it was darkness and indistinguishable muffled noises that met Ouro as she searched. He was obscured from her. Someone didn’t want him found. Concentrating harder, she reached further and lost even the faint echoes that might be from Fenn.

“Damn it.” She opened her eyes, breathing hard. It was no easy feat to hide from _this_. The pool was connected to the very lifeblood of Nirn, but it wasn’t enough. So, it would take more blood. She snatched the small knife from her boot and cut her palm without hesitation before slipping the blade back in its place.

Ouro squeezed her fist, the blood welling up in her hand. This was a last resort, a tool far more dangerous than the usual, simple scrying spells. This kind of magic frightened even the most experienced practitioners for its wildly uncontrollable nature and unpredictability. It had coursed through her for her entire life. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She’d upended her own life today already, why not upend the rest of the world too?

She opened her hand over the water, watching the crimson droplets fall, sizzling like extinguished flames as they broke the surface. From their ripples, dark red mist rose like smoke. The only sound around her was her shallow breath.

Ouro was plunged farther into the void with the sensation of being dragged down into glacial waters, the frigid cold clawing at her. It relented but was replaced with rivulets of fire that shrieked beneath her skin until her mind slammed into Fenn’s. The consciousness of another person was chaos, no two minds were alike, and it took considerable effort to allow herself to receive anything coherent from him. He was young, and regardless of his brilliance, his thoughts and memories were in disarray.

Her body was wracked with pain that made the previous sensations feel like a lover’s caress. He screamed, and the sound rent her very soul. They were torturing him…

_Why are you doing this to me?_

_Why is this happening?_

_There’s nothing I can tell you…_

_No…NO!!_

He was begging, crying in vain for them to stop. His thoughts filled Ouro, and she knew _exactly_ where he was. Her teeth were clenched as she struggled to stay connected. Perhaps if she could bear some of the burden of his pain, he wouldn’t feel it as much…

_Ouro…no! Stay away…do not…_

The ragged, anguished wail echoed around her, and Ouro realized it was her own voice. She was on her hands and knees beside the scrying pool, body shaking, and retched onto the floor. Fenn had known she was there, though, trying to ward her off. There was probably a good reason, but she’d quit rationality an hour ago. She had what she needed and could go to him. Vestiges of the pain they were inflicting on him hummed through her, and with it, her rage swelled. Fenn didn’t deserve to suffer that way; he’d never hurt anyone. Genuinely good people were in short supply, and he was one of them.

She looked down at her hands, her skin had grown white, her veins were dark, standing out in contrast. It was possible to stop it, to push the power back as it surged to the surface, hungry and demanding the thing that powered it. It was dangerous to foe and friend alike. But right now, she needed every bit of the strength it would give her.

“Ouro!” Soren entered the chamber, and Ouro hissed, baring her teeth at him. He stared, seeing the change in her, and she knew he would try to stop her or follow her.

“ _Get out!_ ”

“What are you doing?”

“The right thing.” She shook her head. “I swore to uphold balance between the living and the dead in Tamriel. I did not swear to follow Tesgrim’s orders without question.”

“You’re throwing _everything_ away for some whelp.”

“Maybe someday you’ll understand. Maybe you’ll even see Tesgrim for what he is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He was taken aback, but Ouro didn’t reply. She saw his eyes land on the churning water of the pool before looking back at her again. She knew him well enough to deduce his first thought.

“No.” It was a whisper. He would not follow her, and she’d ensure that no one could. Turning toward the water, she reached up then swept her hands down. There was a flash, then glowing lines streaked across the stone the ceiling and walls like lightning, darkness dripping from the craggy wounds, almost as though they bled.

“What did you just do?” Soren breathed, eyes widening.

“No one will use this room against me,” Ouro told him. “You’d better go…or stay here in a grave of rubble, Soren.” The sound of cracking stone startled him as pebbles and dirt began to fall out of the cracks. The rock started to shake, the cave-in was beginning, and before he could move or try to stop her, she closed her eyes, ripping her way through the veil of reality.

* * *

.

* * *

Stealth was not a thing with Lyris Titanborn on one’s heels. Largely, she was aware of this and made up for the shortcoming by either flattening or cleaving anything that took notice of their presence. Vampires were a formidable foe, but, as she had helpfully pointed out, anything will die if you chop it into enough pieces.

The urgency of the situation worsened by the minute as Savien and Lyris could hear Fennorian’s screams reverberating off the metal walls and pipes. The kid was just a twitchy scholar on top of being an incredibly green vampire, he shouldn’t have had to ever know what it meant to endure such deliberate cruelty.

They heard two voices over the sound of sobbing as they slipped into the next room. It was expansive, full of machines and tanks, the likes of which even Savien had not seen before, and he’d been to Oblivion and back. Fenn was in some sort of contraption, the purpose of which was not clear.

There were two vampires, one made his exit, vanishing as they crept closer, and the sound of Fenn’s cries turned Savien’s stomach. He was losing hope that the cavalry would arrive in time, and from what he knew about Ouro Aduen, he knew that it would be very bad for him if she was to fault them for something happening to the young Altmer.

“Ah, Fennorian of House Ravenwatch…two of our guests have arrived already.” Tzinghalis chuckled. He knew that they’d come and seemed completely unbothered by it. There were several Gray Host sentries posted around the dark, but expansive chamber. There were even two Blood Knights, but despite knowing of the intrusion, they didn’t move. “Try not to die too quickly. I’m still waiting for one more, and I don’t want you to miss it. After all, after the courtesy that my guards were shown, I wouldn’t want to be rude and get started too early.”

“One more?” Lyris mouthed. Savien nodded.

“I sent a message. Perhaps I should not have.” He sighed quietly.

“Ah, here she comes now, I think.” Tzinghalis stood, smiling to himself, hands folded behind his back as he waited patiently.

Several feet above their heads at the center of the room, a tuft of red smoke faded into view. Savien stared at it, wondering if some gaping maw was about to open and pour forth countless Blood Riders. It would be _extremely_ convenient if so.

There was a strange distortion, though, and a sudden crack, like watching a mirror slowly shatter. The sound of whatever barrier breaking that existed between their plane and the others was a noise there were no words for. The shockwave threw several of the sentries backward as a woman dropped out of the breach and landed neatly on her feet.

It _was_ Ouro Aduen, but she was pale, wraithlike even, her eyes bright, glowing red as she peered at her enemies, teeth bared. One of the sentries took a step toward her, and she put her hand up. They watched as his chest was laid open as if slashed by a sword, though she held no weapon. His blood pooled where he fell, and Savien was shocked to see the thick, sticky red slither across the floor to Ouro’s feet where it disappeared, absorbed.

“You are even more magnificent than I had anticipated.” Tzinghalis wore a manic grin as if he’d just received the greatest and best gift anyone could ever give him. Ouro’s eyes turned black, and Savien looked forward to whatever she was going to do to that monster, who unwisely went on talking. “I think you’re _just_ what we need, actually.” There was a small sound, and Ouro plucked a dart out of the air that had whizzed toward her, aimed at her neck.

“You won’t capture me.” She said simply. It wasn’t a threat, there was no overt menace in her tone, but she spoke with an unshakable finality that startled even _that_ madman.

“We’ll see,” Tzinghalis smirked.

“I will try to get to Fenn,” Lyris whispered, not taking into account the fact they were in a room full of vampires.

“You will die trying, daughter of giants.” The insane scientist nodded, and the sentries lunged into action. Every one of them simultaneously halted as Ouro brought both hands up, almost to her face. She was serene, but there was nothing peaceful about her. It was a terrifying tranquility, the sort of face one would imagine the inevitability of death to wear. She closed her fists, and the vampires crumpled, folded like balled up parchment screaming as their bones broke until they were pulverized, skulls crushed beyond even vampiric healing.

Finally, Tzinghalis looked a bit nervous.

* * *

.

* * *

It was like watching the events through a telescope from somewhere far inside herself. Ouro was awake, aware, and doing the things she was doing, but it still felt almost separate from herself. When Fenn’s captor tried to dart away, and she grabbed him by the front of his coat, she was pulled forward once more, fully present.

She hurled him at a piece of machinery, and he struck it with a sickening crack. Likely, his spine had snapped, it was a sound she knew well. Ouro knelt down, taking hold of him once more. There was a little blood at the corner of his mouth as he stared up at her.

“He…he assured me…” He panted. She blinked slowly. “Tesgrim, he said I’ve never seen anything like you, and he was right.” The words slowly penetrated the shield of fury she’d armored herself with. Her face must have changed because he laughed suddenly. “Oh, dear, you had no idea, did you?”

“No idea of _what_?” Ouro snarled, slamming his head back against the floor, but she gasped, startled as the axe blade came down in front of her face with enough force to embed in the floor. The kill had been taken from her. She looked up, hissing at the scowling face of Lyris Titanborn.

“Get _Fenn_.”

Ouro blinked, the task at hand returning to her through the haze, and she felt herself fade back to normal. Scrambling, she got up and away from Tzinghalis, nearly slipping in blood. Fenn was suspended in the machine, an arch with some sort of force holding him up, torturing him, draining him, and he cried out, sobbing. If she flipped the wrong switch, he might be killed immediately, and of course, there was nothing to indicate which would turn the thing off. In frustration, she unleashed a blast at the console. The machine sputtered, and Fenn dropped to the floor in a trembling heap.

“Solitude…needs to be warned…” He whimpered. Ouro dropped down beside him, taking his face between her hands. His eyes were haunted, his cheeks wet with tears, and he was wounded and in pain. “You should have just…left me. You could have died.”

“I am aware of the risks.” She whispered. It was something he’d said to her as she’d warned him against the dangers of this place. “And I’d do it again.”

“I felt so…selfish…for wanting you to come…” His voice trembled, and it was evident that he badly needed blood.

“You're _not_ selfish.”

“It's over now, at least. That…that one was a ten, I think.”

“What?” She frowned.

“The fight.” He touched her hand. He was still in there somewhere, and she smiled, though still riddled with worry. “Thank you.” Ouro flinched suddenly, upon noticing Savien crouched beside them.

“I found your flask.” He held it out to Fenn, who, shocked to see it, accepted it gratefully.

“Thank you, my friend…I…”

“I don’t think there’s much in there, Fenn.” The Breton seemed genuinely concerned as Fennorian fumbled with the cork. Ouro took it, popped it out, and handed it back. He quickly drained what little blood there was.

“It…will have to do.” He sighed. “Thank you all the same.”

“Look, just this once, I’ll let you do what you need to do…” Savien started, and pulled off one of his gloves, beginning to roll up his sleeve.

“No.” Fenn shook his head. “In this state, even a willing participant is in too much danger. I appreciate your offer, truly, but…I cannot take that chance.”

“Are you sure? I’m not _terribly_ weak, you know.” Savien smirked, but still, Fenn refused, shaking his head. “Alright, I accept that; I just want to see you well again, friend.”

“Tzinghalis…his chambers are through there, Lyris.” Fenn nodded at the doors across the room. “I imagine there will be a good deal of useful documentation in there.” He winced a little, and Ouro, watching him, knew that he was using what tiny bit of strength he had left, to hide the terrible state he was in.

“Alright…come on, Sav, let’s give them a minute. We have to dig through that lunatic’s crap.” Lyris gave them a nod and headed for the doors. Savien patted Fenn on the shoulder then followed her without a word.

Fenn slumped, breathing hard, and Ouro tried to prop him up, wrapping her arms around him from where she knelt.

“I can’t even stand.” His face twisted.

“I know.” Seeing him this way stirred her anger, and she wished she’d had more time to give Tzinghalis what he actually deserved. “You need blood.” The choice was already made, one that she had never made before, and never would for anyone else.

“There isn’t any…”

“There is mine.” It felt strange to say it, and he frowned at her.

“That won’t help me.”

“It will.” She took a deep breath to calm herself.

“How?”

“You said that you trust me implicitly, do you still?”

“Of course.” He blinked.

“It will give you what you need. I’m willing, and you won’t be able to hurt me.” She watched his eyes as confusion ran rampant.

“I…” He struggled as the concept went against everything he knew, but that was because he didn’t know everything.

“I’m not sure I can open a portal right now after…that, and we need to get you out of here.” She couldn’t and wouldn’t force him, of course. If they needed to find another way, so be it.

“Blood sharing is…” It was not a thing to do or take lightly.

“I know.” Ouro nodded. The symbols of trust between mortals were typically tangible objects. Between vampires, it was blood. Individuals who were very close were known to exchange vials of their blood, but to feed from another…it was not for sustenance; it was for something much bigger than that. “I’m offering regardless of how you feel. Your life matters, I can’t just…”

“I cannot accept, Ouro, not if you don’t…if you aren’t…” He was getting weaker the longer they waited.

“I am.” The words were barely a whisper. Fenn watched her eyes for a long moment, and she felt strange for having said it.

“Alright.” He told her finally. There were a million questions on his face, and she would answer them eventually, but now wasn’t the time.

Ouro sat back on her heels and tugged open the collar of her jacket and her shirt. There would be none of that wrist-drinking nonsense, time was of the essence. She hesitated ever so slightly, but got onto his lap, facing him. Neither of them said anything, which made her squirm internally just a bit.

“Hurry up, before you faint, Fennorian.” She chided but smiled a little. Her pulse raced faster than she would have expected. It was a short list, the things she’d never done or experienced, but this was one of them.

Fenn brushed her hair back and leaned forward. She was trying to save his life; she wasn’t supposed to enjoy herself. Ouro closed her eyes, waiting for him to get on with it. His breath on her skin made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. He put his arms around her, fingers tangling in her hair. With some effort, she remained perfectly still, even when his lips pressed against her throat.

When his fangs finally pierced her skin, she inhaled sharply, gripping his shoulders, but couldn’t stop the shiver that went through her. The ebb of one’s own blood didn’t usually come with any particular sensation aside from weakness when too much was lost, but this was disconcertingly different. It wasn’t bad, quite the opposite, to the point that holding still was almost impossible. When Fenn held Ouro tighter against him as he fed in earnest, her own restraint was all but lost.

With a quiet groan, he forced himself to stop, and she felt his tongue move over the wounds, catching the last drops as she healed. He pulled back, and she saw her blood on his mouth.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, and she nodded.

“Yes, of course.” It was a lie, she was not alright, she needed an ice bath. Ouro shifted to move off of him but halted abruptly. Apparently, so did he.

Fenn’s cheeks darkened. “Apologies.”

“It’s just an effect of the blood…” She murmured. “We should get moving and see if they’ve found anything.”

“I’m sure they have; those are his quarters.” Fenn stood, accepting the hand she offered. She reached up, though, and wiped the remaining blood from his mouth.

“We don’t need them asking questions, too.” She sighed, fastening her jacket back up. “Once we see to them, we can go somewhere quiet, and you can rest.”

“Thank you.”


	13. Blood Born

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains discussion of sexual assault.

Fenn was a shadow of himself and said very little between Blackreach and Solitude. Not that Ouro expected otherwise. She had her own troubles hanging over her head. Her new housekeeper, Brynn, greeted them when they entered. The previous one had taken no issue with relaying her business to Tesgrim. So, tempting though it was to relieve the old woman both of her employment and her life, she’d lost only her position, as well as a great deal of memories. Brynn had worked for Ouro in the past but left on good terms when she wanted to move to Morthal with her new husband. That had been twenty years ago already, though it seemed like yesterday. Her husband had died, and with her children grown, she was free again, which was quite fortuitous. Though, also tragic, of course.

“The bath is ready upstairs, and the clothes you asked for are in the small chest.” Brynn had aged well, Nords usually did. She was probably almost fifty but didn’t look that much different from before. Ouro had sent a message ahead while she and Fennorian made their way back to the city. “I’ll be down by the fire if you need anything else.”

“Thank you.” Ouro took Fenn’s hand. “A hot bath will at least soothe your body.” He merely nodded, allowing her to lead him upstairs.

As they entered her bedchamber, he perked up a little, looking around at the wide array of things. Nothing really matched, coordinating décor had never been one of Ouro’s priorities. Everything she owned had been collected here and there over time, items that she’d liked the look of, or that had interesting history. There was a large shelf crammed with books, statuettes tucked in various corners, and more books wherever she’d been able to fit them. Numerous small items and articles of clothing were strewn about in some semblance of organized chaos. Her expansive bed had come from Rimmen who knew how long ago; it had a wooden canopy, and behind it, growing up the wall and ceiling, were vines with small flowers that softly glowed blue.

In the corner was a deep bathtub, the water steaming invitingly. Fresh towels were laid out, and the small chest was on the floor out of the way.

“Um, well…” Ouro glanced around. “The bath is ready…er, as you can see. There are towels and a sponge and…clothes in here.” She pointed to the chest. “They’re not the best, but they should do for now. I’m going to get cleaned up a bit, and I’ll come back to see if you need anything.”

She was in a strange position and wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed. She’d never had to take care of anyone else who’d been tortured before. All she really could do was be there and let Fenn decide what he needed.

Ouro’s home was large for being in the city, and its lowest level housed Brynn’s quarters. The housekeeper was bent, stirring something in a pot by the fire, and she glanced back upon hearing footsteps and smiled.

“Is there something I can help you with?” She asked, straightening up and brushing her hands off. Ouro shook her head.

“No, I’d just like to borrow your basin. I need to wash up and change.” She held simple breeches, and a shirt draped over her arm.

“Oh, yes, of course. Here, I’ll help you. It’s been a long time since we’ve chatted, anyway.” Brynn smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. She’d always been so cheerful and generous. Ouro intended to decline the offer but found herself nodding instead.

“Thank you.”

Brynn took the clothes and led Ouro into her quarters, where she set them aside before pouring water into the porcelain basin from the metal ewer.

“Seems your young man had a rough go of things.” Brynn started as she helped Ouro out of her leathers. “I saw that same hollowness in your eyes at least once or twice back then.”

“How do you know he’s young?” Arching a brow, Ouro almost smirked.

“Young people have a look about them. _You_ appear young from far away, but up close, at least to me, it’s obvious you aren’t. He’s important to you, then?” Brynn bustled about the room. “My daughters hated for me to fuss over them once they reached a certain age.” One thing that was pleasant about her was that she was willing and able to hold up the entire conversation if necessary, and she didn’t mind a bit. “These could certainly use a scrub.” She wrinkled her nose at the discarded riding clothes.

“Not this time, I will take care of them.” Ouro had stripped down to just a shirt. They were quiet for a few minutes as she scrubbed herself, pointedly avoiding making eye contact with her own reflection in the mirror over the basin. It didn’t feel like she could face herself just yet.

Ouro allowed Brynn to help her wash her hair. Keeping it only shoulder length at least made it less of an ordeal. She’d forgotten the comfort of having someone in her house who genuinely cared.

“You’ve changed.” Brynn murmured as Ouro toweled off. “I mean…you’re the same…but you’re not.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve never had that luxury.” Though, there had been one significant change that she’d yet to allow herself to unpack.

“I might not be six hundred years old, Ouro, but I’m no spring chicken.” Brynn chuckled. “I can see that things are different. Maybe it’s to do with that young man. Who can say?”

“I guess we shall see.” Ouro pulled on the loose, linen trousers, tying them at the waist.

“So, who is he?”

“His name is Fennorian. He’s from the Ravenwatch.” She let out a long breath and sat down in the chair next to the basin as Brynn took up a hairbrush.

“Oh! There’s a name I haven’t heard in such a long time. How is the Count?”

“Gone…dead, I guess, for all intents and purposes. The last thing he asked of me was to look after and help Fenn.” Ouro sighed.

“I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good friend.”

“He was, even though I pretended he was nothing but a good fuck now and then.”

“Ah, that he was, though.” Brynn grinned, brushing Ouro’s hair.

“That’s right; I’d nearly forgotten that night.” The chuckle bubbled up despite herself, and Ouro slowly shook her head. “Did you ever tell your husband about your adventures before you were his wife?”

“Goodness, no! He knew he wasn’t the first, and didn’t care overmuch; I certainly wasn’t the first girl _he’d_ ever gone to bed with. He knew I worked for a Rider, but I can’t say for sure what he’d have thought if he’d known about that particular incident. There’s quite a bit of difference between being employed by a vampire and letting one inside you!”

“Ah, well, not even husbands deserve all our secrets.”

“By the Eight, if that isn’t the truth!” Brynn laughed aloud.

“Yes, well…” Ouro cleared her throat, getting up. “Thank you for your help; I’d best go see if Fenn needs anything. I’m sure we’ll talk more.”

It felt good to be clean. Travel grime was a uniquely uncomfortable feeling, not to mention the flecks of dead vampire that were no doubt worked into her clothes. Ouro dumped said clothes on the floor by the porch door as she headed back upstairs. She stepped into the bedchamber and glimpsed the tub through the space between the wall and room-divider. The water was still; there was no Altmer bathing in it.

“Fenn?” She went around the divider and found him sitting on the stool, still clothed, having managed only to remove his shoes. There was a line between his furrowed brows, but he blinked, looking up at her, almost surprised.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, looking down again. “It’s a simple thing, but it feels so difficult to do.”

“Don’t worry, I understand. There’s nothing to apologize for.” Ouro shook her head. “Would you…like help? Or would you prefer to be left alone? Either is fine…”

“I would prefer you didn’t go.”

“Alright, I won’t.” She watched his eyes, feeling the ridiculous urge to just hold him and will him to be free of what had happened. “Do you want the bath?” Fenn nodded, and she took a step forward, motioning to his shirt. “Is it alright if I…?” He nodded again, and standing between his knees, she caught the hem of his ragged shirt, slowly pulling it up. He raised his arms and let her take it off. Ouro dropped the grubby fabric onto the floor and stepped back, trying not to stare. She wanted to look at him, but this really wasn’t the time for that.

There was no helping the cursory once-over she did, however. Despite being a bit skinny, Fenn still had the unfair physical blessings that Altmer effortlessly maintained. He could have been a sculpture of white marble if he held still enough. He got to his feet, and automatically, Ouro reached for the tie on his breeches, which hung low on his narrow hips. Mid-pull of the string, she stopped and dropped it. Her eyes turned upward to meet his, and she felt a little stupid.

“Apologies…I didn’t even…ask…” Fighting the urge to open a portal beneath her own feet and have it swallow her up, she politely turned away instead, superficially fiddling with things on the dressing table.

“It’s alright.” Fenn _almost_ sounded amused. Ouro looked back when she heard the water slosh as he climbed into the tub, catching a glimpse of his shapely hindquarters before they disappeared beneath the water.

Fennorian let out a long breath as he sank into the bath, and Ouro moved the stool to sit beside him. She rolled up her sleeves and took up the sponge, soaking it in the hot water. With a few drops from one of the bottles on the side table, she lathered it up then slowly started to wash his shoulders, letting the hot water run over his pale skin. Fenn sniffed then snatched up the bottle, removing its cap and inhaling.

“A calming solution?”

“I use it after…less than pleasant experiences.” She explained. “Is that alright?”

“Yes, it smells good.” He put it back and breathed deeply. “I…have questions.”

“I know.” Ouro murmured. “I will answer whatever you’d like to know.”

“Does your housekeeper also provide blood?” That wasn’t the question she’d expected, and she was a little taken aback as she shook her head.

“No…Brynn is solely a housekeeper.”

“She doesn’t mind that you’re a vampire?”

“Well…she was brought up not minding. I’ve known her since she was born, just as I knew her father. His mother and grandmother had both worked for me in the earlier parts of their lives.” She moved the sponge over his back. Bruises were still fading, and her stomach lurched a little. He’d been hurt badly enough that it was taking _this_ long for them to fade.

“Strange tradition.”

“I suppose. They come here while still girls almost…well, and some of the boys as well. They’re fed, clothed, educated, and eventually move on and make lives for themselves however they choose.” There had never been need before to discuss the people that had served her for centuries.

“So…they’re your family?”

“In a way, I guess they are, yes.”

“How did that come to be?”

“I promised a dying man a very long time ago that his daughter would be well taken care of. From that daughter came Brynn and many others before her.” Brynn’s family had always been a glimpse for Ouro into what ordinary mortal life was like.

A long stretch of silence passed before Fenn spoke again.

“Have…have any ever asked you to turn them?” His brow furrowed, and she nodded.

“A few have asked; I’ve never said yes. Not to them or anyone else.” She had seen people turned who had begged for it, and the regret many of them often suffered afterward. “Usually, once they see the horror it entails, most agree that living forever and watching every mortal person they’d ever met or cared for die…is no life at all.” The mortality of Brynn and her ancestors was something Ouro had long ago forced herself to accept and appreciate, despite the pain of loss she experienced when they passed. Their finite existences held a strange sort of beauty, something she never had and never would experience in the way that they did.

“Good,” Fenn whispered. The note of bitterness in his voice convinced her further that he’d been turned against his will. As if it hadn’t already been apparent.

“I trust that’s not your only question?” She almost wanted him to hurry up so the conversation could be over with. It was not something she openly divulged and didn’t intend to again after this.

“I think you can probably guess what else I’d like to know.”

“Yes.” Ouro let out a long breath. “There is a short answer, and then there is the much, much longer one.”

“Both?” He shrugged one shoulder, and she dropped the sponge into his hands with a wet plop. “If you’re willing, of course.”

“I said I would tell you, and I will, despite the consequences.” She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and scooted back a little so she could see his face better, but then fixed her gaze on his shoulder, where it was safe, and she wouldn’t have to see right away what expression he wore once he knew. “I don’t have to tell you the horrors of experimentation on sapient creatures.”

“An _experiment_ gave you, a vampire, _viable_ blood?” His eyes widened.

“No, well…yes, but not the way you’re thinking.” She’d never had to explain it to anyone before, and it was difficult to know where to start. “The short answer is that I was born already like this.”

“ _Born_?”

“Yes, expelled from the womb in _this_ state.” She fidgeted, rubbing an imaginary spot on the tub’s edge, glancing up only briefly to see a mixture of interest and confusion.

“How is that possible?”

“Well…it isn’t commonly known that a male vampire can father children by mortal women. The circumstances are rarely just right for the conception to occur, then not only that but for the woman to carry the child and give birth.” Ouro paused, uncertain about how she felt, but forced herself to go on. “There was an obscure group of vampires led by a pureblood called Chivisu Sierlak.” She had not uttered that name since the day she’d killed him, and it felt almost as if just saying it would somehow summon him back from his ashes.

“That’s Akaviri.”

“Very good.” A small smile crossed her lips. “Tsaesci, actually. He sought to find a way to make a vampire that had never been subjected to what he called the corruption of mortality. So…he, along with his cohorts, scoured Tamriel for women who showed particularly potent magical talents. They were taken and locked away. You’re familiar with the Daughters of Coldharbour, yes?” Fenn nodded. “Then, you know how they are made.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Every year, Chivisu sought out women and took them against their will, careful of the timing, of course. When he’d manage to get one with child, they would be offered up to Molag Bal on his summoning day. They all either died during the ceremony or if they survived, they miscarried.”

“All except your mother?” Fenn asked. Ouro nodded, daring to meet his eyes and see what lie within them. She saw sympathy, but not pity, which was the only reason she was able to continue.

“The whole thing drove her mad. Raped by a vampire lord every night until she became pregnant, then…Molag Bal…” She grimaced, shaking her head and let out a shuddering breath, looking down at her hands in her lap. “I can bear the burden of my own existence, but…what she endured…she has the mind of a child now. I couldn’t…I could never bring myself to show her the mercy she deserves.” Ouro had intended to, tried even, as it was the right thing to do to end such suffering, but always, something inside her stayed her hand. “And so…she’s gone on century after century, well cared for, of course, but…I can only hope that she doesn’t remember any of it.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached up and touched her shoulder, soaking the fabric. “Erm…sorry. Please, go on.”

“Since she’d given him what he wanted, Chivisu lavished her with gifts and even allowed her to name me. With what shreds of sanity she had left, she gave me my name and clung to her brief moments of lucidity enough to talk to me sometimes when I was a child. Every time she was clear-headed enough, she would tell me to never give them what they wanted. I was a kept thing, not a person to them, and as I got older, I grew defiant. Chivisu stopped letting me see my mother. I was trained by scholars and mages…foolishly he armed me, thinking that eventually, I would come around. When I was of age, he thought he would see if I could bear children. I killed several of the vampires he sent to attempt it.”

“That’s…” Fenn shook his head at a loss for words.

“Yes.” Ouro sighed. “I spent the first fifty years of my life as a caged animal. Then Tesgrim came. He’d been invited to see what they’d been doing, and Chivisu was quite startled when Tesgrim set me free.”

“So that was the day you killed the one who turned your mother against her will,” Fenn remembered what she’d told him in Blackreach.

“The only survivor, as I’m sure you can guess, was my mother. After that, the Riders took me in, I put on the red, and I’ve worn it ever since.”

“Are you the only one of your kind, then?”

“I hope I’m the only one who came to exist the way I did…but no, there are a handful of others who were born. They stay hidden for the most part. Very few are ever allowed to know. Those who had been open about such origins had been summarily hunted down. The people of Tamriel can find ways to cope with vampirism as a disease, but as a people born and bred, they stamp it out as soon as they're able.”

“Have you met any others?”

“Tesgrim. That commonality made him sympathetic to my plight. Not even the other Riders know the truth, though.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“You deserved the truth.” Ouro wasn’t sure how she’d expected Fennorian to react to the revelation of her origin. She’d thought there would have been more questions, though undoubtedly his usual relentlessly inquisitive nature was still somewhat subdued as he reeled from his recent experiences. He hadn’t said anything about what he thought of it all, which added to her sense of unease.

“So, technically, you’re Tsaesci?” Fenn stroked his chin. _What_ was he thinking about? What did he think of her? Of what she was?

“Well, there’s a reason I’ve never been to Akaviri.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded. “I’m starting to shrivel.”

“What?” She blinked and looked up. He held his hand out of the water, and indeed, he’d grown quite wrinkly. “Oh…right. Here.” Ouro rose and grabbed a towel, holding it out to the side as she once again politely looked away.

The water sloshed, and Fenn took the towel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him wrap it around his waist. “I’m sure you’re hungry, I’ll get a bottle and some cups.” Without a backward glance, Ouro left the room, trying not to look too hurried. It would have been only too easy to give in to the desire to take comfort from one another in other ways. The distraction would be welcome, and no doubt enjoyable as well, but she cared for Fenn and feared somehow marring that by mixing it with their respective catastrophes. Besides, she was nervous.


	14. Quality Literature

Ouro stared into the flames of the large brazier. She knelt beside it, the stone flags of the terrace floor hard beneath her knees. Beside her sat the pile of leathers and riding clothes. Fenn was asleep, finally, upstairs in her bed. Part of her felt that she should have stayed with him in case his nightmares returned worse than before, but she needed a little time to herself to deal with this.

The only constant she’d been sure of as the world changed around her was the Riders. Tesgrim had taken her in, given her a home and effectively a family. For six hundred years, it had been all she’d known. She’d found purpose with them. It wasn’t Tesgrim’s first betrayal; though, before, she'd learned to live with it because she had nowhere else to go. This time, she was older and wiser.

She could survive on her own, but that didn’t make it any less painful, it didn’t stop her from feeling as if she’d been torn in two. The other Riders, she’d been close with many of them. It was perhaps the loss of Soren that wounded her more deeply even than Tesgrim’s flippant disregard for the things she believed to be important. He’d been her closest friend and staunchest supporter in all things for so long. But he’d just stood there, saying _nothing_.

Ouro took the gloves from the top of the pile, feeling the supple texture of the well-worn leather between her fingertips. It was familiar; to the touch, it just felt right. It was like looking at a piece of herself. Her chest heaved, and she wasn’t sure she could do what she needed to. Her hand was shaking as she held the gloves toward the brazier. The breeze chilled the tears on her cheeks, and her breath came faster until finally, she let them fall into the fire.

With difficulty, she fought the urge to snatch them back out, and as the edges began to burn, a sob escaped. She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the sound. The leather was fire resistant, and it took a long time, barely smoldering. Afraid of losing her nerve, Ouro reached out, moving her hand over the fire, making it burn hotter, and the gloves finally caught. She shook her head, sitting back on her heels, face twisted into a grimace as she needlessly resisted falling entirely apart. This was the time to do it if she was going to.

In a surge of anger and frustration, she threw in the belt and the leggings, sending a shower of sparks upwards into the air. Her time with the Riders was over…it was finished…she’d walked away, and it had been the right thing to do. That didn’t change her feelings, though. Grief for a vampire was intense, nearly crippling at times.

“Ouro?” Fenn had come out without making a sound, and she jumped but didn’t dare look at him. He came closer. “What are you doing?” She said nothing, though, picking up the jacket. The shoulder still bore the frayed threads where she’d torn off her insignia. It was even more difficult to throw it into the fire than the other items. “ _Why_ are you burning those?”

“I’m…I…” The words stuck in her throat. She took a deep, but strained breath and dropped the jacket into the fire. “I’m not a Rider anymore.” To say it aloud made it real, and she tried to choke back the onslaught of anguish that welled up. It was like being sucked downward into dark water or hurled off a cliff—the feeling of being dropped into a bottomless pit. Ouro rocked a little, balling up her fists, grasping at any fragment of composure she might have left. “I can never go back.” The tears streamed down. “It’s just me now.”

“You’re not a…? What do you mean?”

She turned her face away from him, squeezing her eyes shut. Fenn wasn’t supposed to see her like this; it was why she’d waited until he was asleep to finally face the truth of it. He sat down beside her, though, and pulled her into his lap, holding her against his chest. They sat that way for a while as she pressed her face against his shirt, tears soaking it. He didn’t push her to speak and it wasn’t until she’d calmed some that he spoke again.

“Can you tell me what happened?” His voice was quiet. A tremble ran through Ouro as she clung to him. She didn’t want to tell him; he would only blame himself and he had enough to worry about. Fenn was just too smart for his own good, though. Through the haze of the aftermath of torture, his brilliant mind still pieced all the evidence and observations together. “You came alone to that tower…none of the Riders were with you.” He pulled back a little, turning her face upward so that she looked at him. “Were you expelled because of _me_?”

“No, I was given a choice.” There was something about the way he looked in the firelight. “And before you ask, despite the overwhelming feeling like my lungs have been ripped out through my chest…I don’t regret my decision.” The concern in his eyes, the genuine compassion despite his own horrors, nearly undid her.

“What happened at the Enclave?” He asked again.

“I was told not to interfere.”

“An order you obviously disregarded, as I vividly recall.”

“It was a bit showy.”

“Full points for pizzazz.” He cocked an eyebrow up, gauging her response, which was a choked, perhaps slightly unhinged laugh-sob. “I am grateful for what you did. Though, I wish it hadn’t been at such expense.”

Ouro took a deep, calming breath. “It was the right thing to do. What sort of person would I be to willingly sit back and allow a war to erupt that will cost countless innocent lives?” She had more reason than that, of course. “And…you needed my help. I couldn’t have abandoned you. Doing what is right and good outweighs my history. A thousand or ten thousand years with them, it wouldn’t matter. So…the Riders will give us no aid.”

It helped, sitting there with Fenn. Well, _on_ him. The comfort she took from his presence, from his gentle, soothing touch was unexpected. Bit by bit, she felt a little less like the world had been pulled out from under her feet. The freefall into despair halted for the time being or at least slowed.

“We’ll find a way to manage without them.” He was the one who’d been tortured, yet he was taking care of her when she should have been seeing to _his_ recovery. Generosity and kindness felt like such rare commodities in a world of people who thought of themselves before everything else, and Fenn gave them so freely. What had she done to deserve such a friend?

Was that all he was? After being tortured to the brink of death, Ouro thought friendship was likely all he had to offer. If that was the case, she’d be content, and would never push for anything more than what he could give. She wasn’t even sure what more _she_ could offer.

“There’s no other choice now. There is no one at my back, but I will do what I can.” Her entire body felt wracked with fatigue, and she longed for the escape sleep promised.

“However it might feel, you aren’t alone, Ouro. I’m with you, whatever happens.”

“I cannot ask that of you.” It would be foolish and irresponsible to lean on him simply to avoid being alone. She didn’t want to _need_ anyone for that, but she did want him.

“You didn’t. You’ve never asked for anything despite all I’ve come to you for. Even if you had, I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Thank you.” When she looked up to Fenn watching her again, and his eyes lowered to her lips, she found herself gently disengaging from the embrace. For all her desire and wanting, part of her still feared getting _too_ close. “Did something wake you?” She asked softly. “The nightmares?” He nodded. “I’m sorry, I should have just stayed, I thought it would be just a few minutes…”

She rose, wringing her hands slightly, pacing aimlessly the small area of the terrace. It was her favorite spot in the house. The fire kept it warm, with perhaps a little magical intervention, and in the corner, surrounded by long drapes, was the place where she went to lounge and read. It was a bed low to the floor that she’d fashioned into a comfortable sort of nook, with pillows and soft furs. Ivy grew up trellises and across the openings that overlooked the edge of Solitude. There were cushioned benches near the brazier, as though it was a place for friends to gather. None ever did, though, as she’d invited very few to so private a place.

“No, nothing to be sorry for. It’s alright.” Fenn got up, his attention drawn to a small stack of books on the side table.

“Are _you_ alright?” Ouro came up beside him as he picked up the novel from the top of the pile. He opened the cover, long fingers trailing lightly down the title page.

“Not yet. I will be. It’s not the first time that I’ve ended up in a situation where I just…wished for death.” He turned a page. “It happened; it cannot be undone. I will put it behind me and do what I can to make sure it wasn’t for nothing.”

“Whatever you need, just…” Her ability to articulate had fled, it seemed. “I’ll do anything if it’ll help.”

“I know.” Fenn closed the book and began looking at the others, one by one. He examined the covers, their bindings, how the pages turned, and sounded as he flipped through them. Then he started checking the ones sitting beside the curtained nook.

“What _are_ you doing, Fenn?” Mystified, she watched him repeat the process for each one before putting them back exactly as they had been. He selected one, though, from the first stack.

“This one’s your favorite.” A small ghost of a smile found its way onto his face.

“How do you know?”

“I can tell you’ve read it many more times than the others, even though you’ve also read all of these repeatedly.” He held it, his thumbs moving over the leather with its gold embossing. “The texture of the paper, the way they’ve been exposed to humidity, the wear of the binding, it tells a story of its own.”

“It might have belonged to someone _else_ who’s read it many times.” A small spark of amusement found its way through the clouded darkness she felt wrapped in.

“Yours is the only scent on the pages.” He seemed very sure. He _was_ correct, of course. Fennorian was certainly the type to have the honed perception to know such things about books. Heightened vampire senses helped immensely, no doubt.

“Very well, so it’s a favorite. What of it?” Ouro folded her arms.

“May I borrow it to read? I’m curious what would bring you back to something so many times.”

 _Shit_. Some chaffing or gentle mockery was what she’d expected, certainly not for him to want to _read_ it.

“It’s…it’s just a silly story…sentimental nonsense.” She wasn’t sure she was ready to give him a look into the parts of her that held appreciation for ridiculous things such as that.

“It’s not silly nonsense if it’s something you love.” The look in his eyes pinned her, and for a moment, she grasped for something to say.

“Well…alright, if you insist, then you’re welcome to it.” She sighed, smiling a little, still unsure, but if he needed a distraction, why not a frivolous novel?

“Thank you.” He glanced down at the cover with the littlest impish smirk she’d ever seen on his lips as he arched a brow at her. “I _could_ read it _to_ you.” Ouro froze, staring up at him, and had no idea what her face did, but it made him frown. “What’s the matter?”

“Well…” Plucking the book from his grip, she flipped it open and paged through until coming to the chapter she was looking for. She pointed to a paragraph and handed it back to him. As he read the passage, Fenn’s brows slowly drew together and then shot upward as he snapped the book closed again.

“Perhaps I should read it quietly to myself.”

“I think that’s for the best.” She nodded. Exhaustion was at long last creeping up, and the need for sleep was all but screaming behind her eyelids. “It’s nearly dawn, and I don’t think I’ve slept in almost a week.” Fenn stifled a yawn in response, and Ouro waved her hand over the fire, extinguishing the brazier.

“I feel like I might sleep for days.” He murmured through another yawn and followed her back into the house.

“If you’d prefer to sleep alone, it’s okay…”

“I’d rather not…if that’s alright.” He told her quickly as they made their way up the staircase. She’d thought as much but didn’t want to make any assumptions. In Blackreach, she’d discovered that she quite liked sharing a bed with him, and it didn’t matter that nothing else went on while she did.

Fenn set the book on the night table as Ouro put out candles. The bed was already unmade since he’d been asleep there earlier, but she straightened the quilt a little, then flipped it back. He bent down without warning, and she jumped, but he pressed what was perhaps a slightly clumsy kiss to her cheek. If she’d been more awake, maybe she’d have done something besides standing there stunned.

“Thank you for everything.” He whispered. “I don’t think I could weather this without your help.”

“You’re welcome…of course.” Impulsively, and without any proper forethought or debate, she gave him a chaste peck squarely on the lips. Astounded by her own actions, Ouro stared at his look of surprise, apologized, and crawled into bed, bidding him goodnight, then put out the rest of the candles with a quick gesture.

* * *

It was late in the day when Ouro finally regained consciousness. She was on her stomach, hugging her pillow. The events of the night before trickled back, and with it came the grayness that she still felt about everything that had happened in the last few days. Groggy, she rubbed her face and looked up to find Fennorian propped against the headboard, a large pillow behind his back, and his nose buried very intently in her favorite dirty book. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let him read it.

“Enjoying yourself?” She asked. He flinched, startled, and lowered it as she laughed aloud unexpectedly, clapping a hand over her mouth. His cheeks actually looked a bit pink. So. Vampires _could_ blush.

“Well,” He shifted a little. “It has more plot than I’d expected.”

“Naturally. I’m a woman of _taste_ , Fennorian. I demand literature of quality, regardless of its subject matter.” Ouro rolled onto her back and stretched, arching her back, and her shirt rode up considerably. As it was the only article of clothing she wore, Fenn got an eyeful, and she quickly yanked it back into place. It wasn’t intentional, but she couldn’t deny curiosity about his thoughts regarding things of a carnal nature. He looked away when she glanced back up at him. The mature thing to do would have been to have a conversation about it. So, of course, she would not be doing that.

“There’s some good sword fighting in that one as well.” She told him and then climbed over his legs to get up. With the bed in the corner as it was, he’d blocked her in much as he had at the lodging in Blackreach. “It’s a good read for the bath.”

“The bath?” Fenn’s eyes were boring into her back as she opened the wardrobe and took out some black breeches and a dark blue shirt. “… _oh_.”

She pulled on the trousers with her back still to him and then pulled the nightshirt over her head, draping it over the chair beside the armoire. Ouro donned the blue shirt and quickly buttoned it up.

He didn’t look away when she turned around this time, and she pretended not to notice, peering at the clock on the bookshelf. It was almost five o’clock already, and she felt the sharp pang of hunger.

“We ought to eat. There should be more clothes in that chest if you’d like to clean up and change. I’ll see about getting a tailor in for something more to your liking until I can make the arrangements to have your things gathered and brought from Dusktown.”

“That’s…much appreciated.”

“I’ll be down in the library when you’re ready.” Ouro padded barefoot out of the room, making her way to the stairs. That was enough silliness for one day. They had their tragedies, and she’d given in to the despair the night before, now hopefully they could start moving forward and take a little time to do some research without anyone hovering over their shoulders.

Ouro’s library, for the most part, _was_ the downstairs, and its shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, lining almost all the walls. It was a diverse and impressive library despite its incompleteness. To her, though, every collection was incomplete, as there was always more she could get. Her other house, south of Morthal, had a much more extensive array of books, but she was confident there would be something here that could be useful for dealing with the witches and vampires.

There was a sealed bottle of blood with two goblets already waiting on the large table. Brynn may have been an aging mortal, but her hearing was still impeccable. Ouro poured herself some then dragged a ladder over to one of the shelves. She climbed and stood on the top, scanning the books. Sipping her breakfast, she spotted one she was looking for and took it. By the time Fenn arrived and had sated his thirst, she had a small stack between her feet on the top of the ladder.

“How are you feeling this mor—today?” She glanced down at him.

“Slightly less terrible than yesterday.” He shrugged one shoulder. “What are these?” He set his cup aside and took the pile.

“There are a couple texts by obscure botanists everyone thought was insane, the diary of some fool who thought to observe and try to live amongst a rather feral tribe of Reachmen…”

“The one with the blood?” He held up the book in question, one edge of the pages was stained dark maroon.

“How’d you guess?” She smirked. “There are a couple that make mention of the Gray Host, and there is one, in particular, that I’m looking for that claimed to be written by a former member who’d managed to abandon the cause before they were slaughtered in Bangkorai. Allegedly. It could be complete bullshit.”

“True of any book.” Fenn took the selections to the table and started paging through one of the botany manuals. “This one actually does mention the Netherroot. Not by name, of course, but there’s a sketch. The Gray Host has been cultivating their crop in Blackreach for decades at the very least. It is not an easy thing to grow, and harder still to process and refine for their harrowstorm-summoning purposes.”

“Well, I suppose if it was easy to be vampiric maniacs trying to take over Tamriel, more would have tried.” Ouro spotted the book she sought, grabbed it from the shelf and finished her drink, climbing down. An evening of combing through history books and journals promised to be very interesting.

Shortly after sundown, just as Ouro expected, there was a heavy knock on the door. Brynn hurried to answer it, and they briefly heard murmured voices. Fenn looked up from where he stood on the ladder, paging through one of the many tomes, frowning suddenly, as he recognized the voices. He climbed down, heading toward the door.

“ _Fennorian, it’s us!_” The familiar squawk of Gwendis rang out.

“I figured your sisters would come,” Ouro told him. “It’s alright, Brynn.” She called. The housekeeper stepped aside, and the small Bosmer vampire hurled into view, looking wildly around until she spotted Fenn. She was followed by Adusa-daro, who strolled in, not looking particularly happy, and then lastly, in came Melina.

“Ugh.” Ouro muttered aloud, accidentally. Fenn heard her, though, and made a slightly amused noise, but leaned down to whisper.

“ _Be nice_.”


	15. Uninvited

Apprehension deepened the creases in Fennorian’s face as his Ravenwatch sisters approached, but they didn’t try to touch or hug him. Ouro was intimately familiar with the aversion to physical contact he was undoubtedly experiencing, though he didn’t seem to mind her touch or close proximity. Even still, she was careful with him. It was more important now than ever to adhere to boundaries. He’d had his free will stripped away, and Tzinghalis had tried to destroy him. It would take more than a few days for him to start to recover from that.

Crossing any lines would have been disastrous to the delicate house of cards he was building that served as trust and comfort. The night before, when she’d given him that silly little peck, well…he’d started it. Ouro wouldn’t be doing _that_ again.

“Ah…welcome.” She bid the women to enter. It was a little strange to have so many people in her home at once. They looked equally uncomfortable, except for Gwendis, who never cared where she was. Avoiding the simpering Breton girl, Ouro looked to Adusa, the eldest, and now first in command of Ravenwatch. Her gaze, as she peered at Ouro, was full of uncertainty. It probably was more than a little awkward for them to visit their newest brother at the home of a woman who’d been their dead or vanished mentor’s former lover. It certainly didn’t paint the best picture of Ouro.

“I didn’t know you lived in a _library_ , O.” Gwendis strode up to the nearest shelf, running her fingers along the spines of a row of books.

“Were you expecting a cozy hearth?” Ouro smirked as the Bosmer gave a snort.

“Not quite.” Gwendis turned to Fenn, looking up at him. She _was_ worried. “How are you, little brother?”

“As well as can be expected.” He fidgeted with the book in his hands.

“Ah, I thought as much.” Gwendis rocked back on her heels. “Well, we brought some of your things. Got your leathers and some books and such from your little Dusk Town love nest.” Melina had daggers in her eyes as she glared suddenly at Gwendis. Fenn remained stony-faced and Ouro desperately wished for everyone to simply leave.

“What couldn’t be carried was crated up and is on its way here,” Adusa added.

“Thank you, I’m glad I won’t have to recreate the research so we can try to protect the people of Solitude from whatever harrowstorm is coming.” Fenn looked a little surprised when the Khajiit held out his journal to him.

“Don’t worry, I made sure sticky fingers and prying eyes were kept _away_.” Adusa tossed an accusatory glare at the other two.

“Thank you.” Fennorian murmured again. Ouro took the awkward silence that followed as her cue to leave them alone.

“I’ll be upstairs in my office if anyone needs anything.”

Fenn caught her wrist, though. “You don’t have to go.”

“I’m sure your sisters would like to speak privately with you, Fenn. It’s alright.” She touched his hand, and his eyes were guarded, but he gave a small nod.

“Could you please take this up with you, then?” He handed her the journal.

“Of course.” She smiled politely at the visitors then made for the stairs, quickly ascending.

Ouro had no business being included in any Ravenwatch family discussions. On her desk there was a pile of unopened correspondence that needed organizing anyway. Passing through the office area, she went into her bedchamber to deposit Fenn’s journal. The brown leather cover was well worn, and it carried with it the scent of herbs and chemicals. Tempting as it was to crack it open and rifle through his private thoughts to sate her ravenous curiosity, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Trust was difficult to build in the first place, even without having been tortured.

She went back out to her desk and began sorting the mail. Some were regarding work with the Blood Riders, and reading through them was more difficult than she anticipated. The wound she carried would be open and raw for a long time; there would be no easy way to tuck it away and get on with her life.

With a huff, she tore them up and threw them into the fireplace.

At the bottom of the pile, still lying on the desk where she’d left them weeks ago, were the letters from Fennorian. His handwriting was the scrawling, hurried script of a scholar. The first two were much neater than the last ones, which had been written with a good deal more desperation. The strange whim she’d had to assist him had come from nowhere, or at least that’s what she’d thought. Perhaps it was all part of some plan Verandis had concocted.

These few sheets of parchment and a healthy helping of boredom on Ouro’s part had irrevocably changed her life. Had it not been for her desire to see where whims took her, none of this would have happened. Though, actually, the catalyst had been the spilt inkpot all those months ago, hadn’t it? She might have never spoken to him if he hadn’t knocked it over.

One young Altmer had somehow managed to turn everything upside down. There was so much to him she didn’t know yet, as he expertly remained behind the barriers erected between himself and everyone else. He was very good at making it sound like he’d revealed something personal, but actually, he’d said nothing at all. He was brilliant and witty, and for as long as she’d lived, she’d never met anyone who pulled her in as he did. He was magnetic in every way, and like a lodestone on water, she turned to him wherever he was, no matter what she did.

Having left the Riders, all her ties were cut, Ouro was free to live as she wished and go where she pleased. Her heart still ached with loss, but for the first time, it felt as if it was beating. What was different? Why didn’t this risk send her as far from Fennorian as she could get? The way she felt, the way she _saw_ the world around her…it was all changed. The paper between her fingers was more real, the fire in the hearth burned hotter and brighter, the scenes in the paintings on the walls felt alive, and the colors of everything shone vibrantly. The world had become… _more_.

From where she sat, allowing herself these silly, sentimental ruminations, Ouro heard a pound on the downstairs door. Months, and even years, had passed with _no_ visitors, and now there was a steady stream of them! She made a frustrated noise, folding the letters and shoving them into the desk drawer, then made her way back downstairs. As she reached the bottom, though, Fenn was already at the door, reaching for the handle.

“Fenn, wait…” There was no telling who was on the other side, but she was too late, and he opened it.

“Fennorian!” Savien’s voice carried, and all three of the Ravenwatch sisters turned at the same time. Of _course_ , they would know him. Ouro managed not to roll her eyes. “How are you, my friend? Lyris sent me to find out.”

“I’m in one piece.” Fenn turned to her as she came up beside him.

“I’ve had this house for four hundred years; I don’t think my door’s ever been knocked on this much in one night. Come in, join the others. I’ll see if there is something suitable for you to drink.” When she looked back, Brynn had hustled up the stairs, looking a bit bewildered by all the commotion. “Some ale for our friend here if you could, please. And blood wine for the rest. Something sweet.”

“Yes, of course.” Brynn nodded and was off again.

“I’m intruding, aren’t I?” Savien cocked an eyebrow but then eyed the vampires across the room with interest.

“Everyone is.” Ouro closed the door as the Breton marched toward the others, a broad grin on his face. Fenn looked unsettled, though, and she lightly touched his arm. “I will send them all away if you’d like. I didn’t know anyone would show up here.”

“I’m not accustomed to such popularity.” He gave a half-smile. “I prefer slinking around unnoticed in the shadows.”

“Well, people care about you.” She liked the idea of him _slinking_ around in the shadows.

“As much as I’d like to take another day, I think tomorrow we will need to get back into the fray. Time is short, and it’s important we work quickly. My own recovery can wait, threatened innocent lives cannot.”

“If that’s what you want.” In her opinion, Fenn needed a month or more without pressures or demands, but he was right, time was of the essence. “At least _he_ will keep them occupied.” Ouro nodded toward Savien.

“I imagine so; I’m fairly certain he, ah… _knows_ at least two of them, if not all three.” Fenn grinned suddenly as she stifled a laugh. All four guests seemed surprised by the noise.

“I don’t doubt it. I think anything on two legs needs to be on guard with that one.”

“Hrm.” Fenn folded his arms, stroking his chin. “Ducks have two legs.” She stared up at him at a loss. “What? They _do_.”

“You took that to a _weird_ place, Fennorian.” She couldn’t help her smile, in part, at his quip, but mostly because she was glad he could still make them.

“I’m not sorry.”

Brynn returned with bottles, brew, and cups, laying them out on the large, book-littered table before quietly slipping away again. The uninvited guests all settled into the chairs around it, and Adusa took hers and inhaled the fragrance of its contents.

“This smells like…” She sniffed it again and finally sipped. “It’s sweet!” Gwendis looked into her own and, without hesitation, drained it, then coughed.

“And strong.” She wheezed, “Blood _and_ spirits, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’d be drunk all the time.” Adusa sighed.

“Blood wine,” Ouro explained. “I have a number of varieties in storage. I’ve found a handful of vintners around Tamriel who are willing to make it for me.”

“How do we know it came from a willing donor?” Melina wrinkled her nose at it and set the cup down.

“That sort of accusation is uncalled for, Melina.” It was Fenn who chided her before Ouro could even answer, and Melina’s pale cheeks became astonishingly red.

“I’m tempted to give it a try.” Savien stroked his chin, eyeing the open bottle.

“Can you stomach the taste of mortal blood?” Ouro asked with a chuckle.

“I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about it.” He grinned though, drinking his ale instead.

“You know, Ouro, we always knew so little about you, when you’d…come and go…from the castle.” Adusa sat back, savoring her wine. Savien snorted into his ale mug, and Ouro gave him a sharp kick under the table, which did little to quell his amusement.

“Verandis and I had known each other a long time. Many of the his objectives aligned with what the Riders sought to do. Though, he was driven more toward finding peace between mortals and vampires. We wanted balance and the preservation of our kind, which meant keeping certain factions and groups from drawing a lot of attention. And so…many of the same means achieved our own ends.”

“And what do the _Riders_ want now?” Melina seemed especially disgruntled just then.

“I don’t know.” Ouro looked into her goblet, swirling its contents. As much as she didn’t want to discuss the matter ever again, the Ravenwatch would remain suspicious of her if they didn’t know the truth, especially considering how much time Fennorian was spending with her.

“But, you’re First Rider,” Gwendis said what the others were thinking, and they all looked equally confused when Ouro shook her head. Fenn was beside her and under the table, he touched her knee, getting her attention. Their eyes met, and he didn’t have to say it. He didn’t want her to feel obligated to tell them something so painful and raw, but she needed to.

“Not anymore.” She took a deep breath. “I was given a choice. Remain with the Riders or go to that tower. And well…here we are.” Ouro finished her beverage and set it down. Daring to glance up, she was met with four sets of equally shocked eyes, which made her squirm.

“It was spectacular…what you did.” Savien didn’t wink or smirk, and Ouro wasn’t sure what was worse, his perpetual state of teasing flirtation or _actual_ sincerity.

“I don’t think anyone here wants or needs to rehash that day. Drink up!” She grabbed the bottle and topped the drink off.

“Hear, hear!” Gwendis raised her own cup briefly, noted that it was empty, and took Adusa’s instead, drinking deep.

“Hey!” Adusa snatched it back.

“Fenn,” Melina fidgeted. “Do you think perhaps we might…have a word?”

“Erm, of course.” He looked at Ouro, who remained pointedly interested in her wine, then got up. She watched, though, as he led the tiny Breton girl up to the office.

“I think _that_ one’s in love with him,” Savien whispered, not at all quietly, and nudged Ouro with his elbow.

“I think that’s nobody’s business, Sav.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’d have thought maybe it was yours…since you are, too—ow!” Ouro kicked him again.

Thankfully, Adusa changed the subject. “Is Fennorian really okay? All he says is not to worry, that he will be fine.” Her voice was a bit hushed. “When Verandis first brought him to us, he wouldn’t sleep for a long time, barely napping here and there. When he did sleep, it was fitful, and he would cry out from nightmares.”

“If he…” She chose her words carefully. “He only has the nightmares if he sleeps alone.” Why she was dancing around it, when everyone already assumed that she and Fenn were lovers, she didn’t know. Perhaps because they actually weren’t. It was uncomfortable, discussing him when he wasn’t present, even with his family.

“Sounds like he’s in the right place, then.” Gwendis nodded.

Ouro was distracted, though, as the conversation carried on. Her mind was foolishly preoccupied with the fact that Fenn was upstairs with a petite, pretty little Breton girl who was enamored with him and probably knew more about him than Ouro did. Jealousy was an uncomfortable and unbecoming feeling for her. _Was_ there history between the two of them? Perhaps Melina had been right in Blackreach, and there _was_ something special between them.

The absurdities rattled around in her head like coins in a jar. Never in the whole of her life had she bothered with such thoughts or concerns. She’d never had to. What right did she even have, anyway? It wasn’t as if there was some understanding between them. They’d only known each other a few weeks. Tumultuous, earthshattering weeks, but only weeks, nevertheless.

“Ouro?”

“Hm?” She looked up to find Savien grinning at her.

“Something… _bothering_ you?”

“Are you always this antagonistic?” She knew that he was. Her patience for this intrusion on her home was running thin.

“Only when it’s this amusing.”

“Mmhm. If you’d all excuse me, it looks like the bottle is about done, I’ll go see if there’s another.” Ouro’s chair scraped noisily on the stone floor as she pushed it back, then left the table. The bottle wasn’t empty yet, but it was as good an excuse as any to get away from them.

When she reached the stairwell, the sound of murmured voices floated down from upstairs. Ouro speculated the nature of the conversation and being caught in the throes of this unanticipated burst of insecurity, fueled several wild conclusions. Against her better judgement, she crept up, rather than going to the basement where the storage was. Without so much as squeaking a floorboard, she peered around the edge of the doorway and saw Fenn and Melina sitting cozily side by side on one of the settees, looking intently at one another. It certainly _appeared_ to be an intimate discussion of some sort. Before she could get a better look or hear what was being said, he glanced up.

Amid a slew of silent curses at herself, Ouro ducked back behind the doorframe.

This was a mistake. _Everything_ probably was somehow.

Unsure if he’d caught her or not, in her moment of unadulterated idiocy, she fled to the basement, mortified. She’d _never_ behaved this way; what was the matter with her? What did she think was going to happen? That Fenn, in his post-torture trauma, would somehow find it in him to ravish the girl on the settee? Ouro had slept beside him wearing nothing but a shirt for how many nights, and he’d never put a hand on her, even _before_ his capture.

That scenario was preposterous, but the thought of him with someone else was wholly more unsettling than anything outlandish that her imagination cooked up.

Wishing for the unwanted guests to miraculously decide to leave, she got up on one of the counters and sat there, just relishing the quiet. There was something to be said for solitude. Being alone wasn’t so bad if all this madness and turmoil was taken into consideration. She’d spent lifetimes that way, on her own…but living a monotonous, grayscale existence.

Feeling alive had a price.

“Ouro.”

 _Damn it_. Fenn appeared and was watching her from the corner. He came closer.

“What is it?” Her attempt at pretending she hadn’t been creeping around trying to eavesdrop in her own home was a poor one.

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course.” She lied.

“Are you sure? I thought perhaps you were uncomfortable with, ah…” So, he _had_ seen her. Perfect. Curt little fibs weren’t going to get her out of the hot water. More than likely, she’d end up right in the fire.

“That’s ridiculous.” She lied again anyway. Fenn wore bald-faced skepticism.

“You _do_ know that I saw you, yes?” And the fire was hot. He leaned his hip against the cabinet, arms folded. For a brief moment, her eyes wandered. Somehow, his hair always fell the same way. It had a very slight wave to it, parted a little off-center, pushed back enough, but if he leaned ahead or looked down, it would fall forward. It suited him, framing his angular face nicely, softening the usual sharp severity most Altmer had.

“Yes, I know,” Ouro muttered and turned her face away.

“ _She_ didn’t notice.” He assured but got only a harrumph of acknowledgement. “Would you like to know what we were talking about?” The answer was obvious, seeing as he’d caught her lurking, but she sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry I even went up there. It’s none of my business. Your private conversations are _yours_ , and I don’t want or need to intrude upon anything…”

“Well, you were right.”

Ouro’s head snapped around. “About what?”

“Melina’s…feelings about me.” He shifted a little awkwardly. “Which, if I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I knew…to some degree.” Idly, Fenn picked up one of the bottles, fiddling with one corner of its label, which had peeled away from the glass.

“Alright.” What else was there to say? Dread slithered up her spine, though, anticipating that whatever he said next would be unpleasant at best.

“I apologized to her for never making it clear that the way I feel toward her is strictly familial, that I don’t think of her as more than my sister. I should have taken care of the matter much sooner.” He shook his head at himself. “I told her she is a lovely girl and deserving of the things she wants…I feel rather terrible to have made her so sad, but…” Fenn looked down, remorse in his voice. “It would have been much worse to let her carry on thinking something that wasn’t true.” In part, Ouro was delighted to hear what he’d told Melina, of course, but it also raised the question of what had she done to make him feel as if he needed to tell her?

“You don’t owe me any explanations, Fenn, or anything else for that matter.” How could she proceed so that they could get back to the peculiar _normal_ that had developed?

“It matters to me, what you feel.”

“I feel like it would make sense for you to… _be_ with someone like her.”

“Like her?” A deep frown abruptly brought his brows together.

“Yes, someone all sweet and pretty, who was at least born in the same _century_ as you.” Ouro let out an exasperated breath. His gaze hardened a little, and his lips briefly pressed into a thin line.

As his jaw clenched, Ouro realized he was angry. She had seen him quiet; she’d seen him smiling and laughing. He’d wept when she took him from the tower, he’d blushed and bantered with her. She’d seen him hurting and feeling lost…but until now, she hadn’t witnessed his anger.

“That’s not something you can decide for me, Ouro. I don’t understand why you’d try. You seem jealous one minute, and then retreating the next.”

“I…” She reached for a reply, but there wasn’t one. All she could do was stare at her hands in her lap, wondering how she was _this_ old and _this_ terrible at managing…this.

“Ouro,” He let out a long breath, and with it went his irritation. Almost hesitantly, he took her hand. “It’s alright.”

She looked up. “What? That I’m a decrepit, emotionally stunted ignoramus?”

“No,” Fenn smiled. “I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

“Are we…doing something?” The question hung uncomfortably between them, and suddenly he was the one at a loss for words.

“I…I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Oh, by all the gods…” Ouro rubbed her face. “It’s the blind leading the blind.” Having a casual lover was easy, having something that mattered was infinitely more complicated.

“But, there’s something that I’ve needed to tell you…for quite some time…” There was a troublesome note in his tone that stopped her dead. Fenn had swung from slightly anxious to angry to shy and landed squarely back at anxious again. In her long and varied history, seldom had anything good ever come after the phrase _I-need-to-tell-you-something_ , or any of its variations.

“Alright.” Ouro braced herself.

“After Verandis was gone…I found myself going through some of his things. I was curious about him, about what he thought, what he’d done, and…well, I was grieving, so…” Fenn paced a little. “I was also trying to find out why he’d been so insistent that I get his letter to you. He had a lot of journals, and you were a topic of his entries periodically. I assume when you’d…visit.”

Ouro’s stomach felt as if it was twisting itself in knots. What precisely had Verandis been writing about her? He wasn’t stupid enough to dare put ink to parchment regarding where she’d come from. Did he document their _activities_? It didn’t make sense if so, nor did it make sense why Fenn would feel the need to tell her about it.

“He never wrote anything bad, if you’re worried, but…I suppose since we met, I’ve known more about you than I let on.” He was clearly beating around the bush.

“Well, what is it? What is this terrible thing haunting you that you feel obligated to tell me about myself?” She hadn’t meant to speak sharply, but he was making her nervous.

“He wrote about it more than once, it seemed to bother him a lot. And…it happened so long ago…”

“ _What_ did, Fennorian?”

“What Tesgrim did.”


	16. Permission

Ouro recoiled as if Fenn had tried to hand her a basket of poisonous snakes. He made it impossible to prepare herself for anything. The instant she had anything even slightly resembling an expectation, he crushed it like a beetle beneath a bootheel. A multitude of emotions and reactions simultaneously gripped her, and all he could see was her staring at him in abject horror and confusion.

“What, _precisely_ , did Verandis claim to know?” Ouro had known Verandis nearly two hundred years, and for most of that time, their strange _friendship_ had persisted. Over time he’d wheedled a great many things out of her in bits and pieces. It wasn’t beyond him to put all the scraps together and paint himself a picture of what her existence had been.

“Just…please know that he always sought to help you and be your friend…” Fenn’s face was drawn, his words were cautious. “Numerous entries implied, and some outright stated…that it was his belief that Tesgrim had many of the same goals Chivisu had, though without the kidnapping, captivity, and rape.”

“I’m not sure what part of coercion and manipulation into being little more than a fuck-puppet for breeding _isn’t_ rape.”

“ _No_ , no! I didn’t mean…I’d _never_ suggest or imply that I know or understand what you endured…” Reflexively, Fenn reached toward her, and Ouro flinched. It wasn’t on purpose, but he pulled back quickly. “Please, forgive me, I…I thought it was best to be honest about what I knew, especially regarding something so… _incredibly_ personal.”

“I know.” Ouro closed her eyes, taking a couple deep breaths. She caught his hand and urged him back toward her again, trying to be reassuring amidst the chaos of what she felt about the past. “It’s not you that I’m…upset with. I just would have preferred to choose whether or not to share those things…and when.”

“I understand.” He brushed her hair back from her eyes, and it startled her, but she forced herself not to pull away. _His_ touch was the only contact she _wanted_ ; she didn’t want him to feel like he needed to be so careful. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.” His hand enveloped hers, thumb gently stroking her skin. How was it like this? How could they slip so seamlessly from something so serious to heated silence where the barest touch set her on fire?

“You didn’t.”

Fenn bent, and his kiss landed at the side of her mouth. Ouro couldn’t decide if that was his intent or if he’d simply missed. Her lips brushed lightly against his, though, and with a measure of self-restraint that she didn’t know she had, she drew back.

“You should probably see to the guests…if you’ve still got business with them.” She breathed. Yes, it was best to pay attention to the fact that there were four other people upstairs, left to their own devices. “Tell Savien that he and Lyris can expect us bright and early at the Blue Palace.”

“Yes.” Fenn cleared his throat. “Good idea.”

“I’m done visiting for the night, I think.” She slid off the cabinet, struggling to clear her mind. Tempting though it was, distracting from the matter at hand probably wasn’t the wisest course of action.

Fennorian was dealing with the guests, and Ouro sank into the bath, sliding down until the water was at her chin. It seemed like forever since the last time she’d had a good, long soak. The hot water warmed her, and she held a crystal tumbler full of whiskey, arm propped up on the edge of the tub as she lay with her head back.

It wasn’t that Verandis had figured things out that had thrown her so off-kilter, or even that he’d written them down for anyone to find. It was what had happened _because_ of Tesgrim’s manipulations. She’d never told Verandis, or anyone else, for that matter, that Tesgrim had nearly gotten his wish. Ouro had almost lost her life in the process, and their progeny didn’t live long enough to draw more than two breaths. Without the intervention of a Clever Woman, Ouro wouldn’t be here in this tub, thinking very seriously about consuming the entire bottle of liquor sitting on the side table.

Brynn’s family wasn’t the only one that had her as a mysterious, undying patron. The woman who’d saved Ouro’s life and ensured that she would _never_ find herself in that situation again was Old Mjolen’s many times great-grandmother.

Maybe, when the time was right, she would share that part of the story with Fenn. Perhaps she’d even take him to her daughter’s grave. The pain of having been born and caged for decades, and then manipulated and betrayed did not hold a candle to the rending of her very soul as her own child died in her arms. She’d been a mother for about a minute, but what she’d felt that day would never die.

 _That_ was what she’d never forgiven Tesgrim for, and he didn’t even know, nor would he ever. He didn’t deserve to know. Because of him, because of what he’d _forced_ her to do, she had endured the ultimate loss. The knowledge of that secret had been buried with the Clever Woman centuries ago, however.

Ouro had refilled her glass twice so far and sipped from it. She could hear Fenn making his way upstairs; he moved quietly but hadn’t mastered complete silence as of yet. He did remarkably well for having been turned less than a year earlier. The thought reminded her that she didn’t know the circumstances of his turning, or anything else about his life.

“May I enter?” He asked tentatively from the door.

“Of course.” They were beyond being shy at this point, weren’t they? She took another long draught of her whiskey.

“You’re angry.” He sat on the stool just outside her peripheral vision, as she had the night before when it was him in the bath.

“I don’t know what I am.” As she sat up a little and adjusted her position, her breasts rose above the water. The quiet slosh of the bath as she moved was interrupted by a clatter of things falling over and tumbling off the dressing table behind her. Brief silence followed but was then punctuated by the hasty righting of the disturbed objects. Ouro was grateful she couldn’t see what was happening, lest she laugh and embarrass the poor bastard.

“Was I right to tell you?”

“I would rather have a shocking or unpleasant truth than have something hidden. I’ve dealt with enough lies in my life.” She swirled the amber liquid in the glittering crystal. “If I’m upset, it’s at Verandis. Though, fat lot of good it does, with him being dead.” She drained the remainder of her drink, and Fenn quickly took her glass before she could sit up again.

“I do think that Verandis and I have had vastly different experiences in knowing you.”

She turned and stared at him, eyes wide, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Not…I didn’t mean…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long breath, and she was careful not to let on that she found flustering him quite so entertaining. “I expected you to be distant and closed off…difficult to talk to, but…” She put her arms across the edge of the tub, hands folded, and propped her chin on her wrist, watching him.

“But?” She prompted.

“But you haven’t been that way at all.”

“Well, I feel quite a bit differently about you than I did him.”

Fenn’s brows shot upward. “Oh?” _Damn it_ —too much whiskey in too little time. Ouro sat back in the water again.

“It seems you know almost everything about me, Fennorian, and I still know so little about you.” She hadn’t had enough to drink to elaborate on her feelings, at least.

“What would you like to know?”

“I don’t know. Do you have any deep, dark secrets?” She smirked a little, and he frowned, thinking.

“That depends on what constitutes deep and dark. I’ve done a good deal of creeping around crypts and tombs, picking locks, and rifling through things that didn’t really…belong to me…”

“I suppose that’s literally deep and dark, but…not what I meant.”

“Becoming a vampire was a hellish endeavor I have no desire to relive tonight…”

“Nor would I ask you to.” She looked over her shoulder at him. The water had started to get cold, unfortunately. “You don’t _have_ to tell me anything.”

“My life has changed markedly in ways I could never have imagined. It’s been horrible and wonderful. I’ve lost things I thought mattered and gained things that matter more. I became part of a family that isn’t hung up on breeding and achieving some ridiculous notion of perfection. I’ve come to know a woman who…” He halted, his eyes fixed on hers for a long moment. “…who, despite being a vampire, has shown me that it’s possible to be more alive now than ever.”

“She sounds like a bit of a sap.” Ouro tried not to grin.

“Maybe a little.” Fenn shrugged. “But she’s intelligent and interesting. Witty…and has a fascinating collection of erotic literature.”

“Collection? How do you know that book isn’t the _only_ one?” She scoffed, but he gave her a level look. With a nod, she conceded. “That’s fair. Well, have you learned anything from your exploration of these _artful_ works of fiction?”

“I must confess, I learn much better through practice than study.” There was a glint in his eye she’d never seen before, and her mouth dropped open briefly before snapping shut.

“Is that so?” She sat forward, looking around for a towel since her robe didn’t appear to be hanging in its usual place.

“Oh, here.” Fenn stood and picked it up off the floor where it must have fallen. She got to her feet, water running in tiny rivulets down her body, watching his eyes move over her before he politely looked away, holding open the dressing gown.

“Thank you.” She murmured, stepping out of the tub and put her arms into the sleeves. It seemed he was holding his breath, and as Ouro turned, holding the garment closed, she could see why. His physical reaction to her nakedness was straining against the thin fabric of his trousers. Under any other circumstances, she might have taken such an opportunity to move things along. But it couldn’t be that way with him yet, not unless _he_ made the choice.

“We should probably rest up for tomorrow. There’s no telling when we’ll get any peace again.” She pulled the drain plug then moved by him to the wardrobe. Rummaging briefly, she pulled out a nightshirt.

“Yes, of course.” Fenn agreed. Quickly, Ouro donned the shirt and went about hanging her robe, moving around where Fenn appeared cemented to the floor. Perhaps he was trying to will away his little problem. Well…not _little_.

Forcing herself to focus at least for the moment, she scanned the bookshelf, choosing one, a small anthology of short stories, to be her distraction for the night. Mostly it was horror and mystery tales and nothing particularly stimulating. She pulled back the covers, propped the pillows up on her side, and started getting herself situated to read. Fenn watched her and then, to her shock, pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it on the floor, snatching up the book she’d lent him from the side table.

Ouro read the same sentence about six times as she watched the lanky Altmer settle in beside her. She gave a small nod and all the lights in the room except for the candles beside the bed extinguished.

“What do you suppose the first order of business will be at the Blue Palace tomorrow?” Her eyes were fixed to the page, peering at the print but interpreting none of it.

“I imagine we will start to work on some way to defend against the Harrowstorm they plan to decimate the city with.” He turned a page.

“I’m not sure I’d even know where to start.” The slightest of tremors went through her, and Ouro realized she was _nervous_. It didn’t matter how old or experienced she was, she’d never been in _this_ position before. Everything had always been so easy, whoever she was with. No hesitation, no concern, no cares at all. But Fennorian mattered, and that fact alone changed everything. Also, he seemed to be much better at pretending to read…or he _was_ reading. If anyone could block out the world and a partially naked woman by reading a book, it would be him.

The agony stretched on. Ouro could have climbed the walls with the strange anxiety that coursed through her. It wasn’t right, she shouldn’t have been hoping for something when he still needed so much time. She wouldn’t dare make a move, of course, she wasn’t selfish. Damn him, though, for sitting there in no shirt at all. He hadn’t done that before, and the behavioral anomaly sent her mind careening toward possible explanations.

Reaching the limits of her sanity, as well as her ability to pretend anything, she closed the book with a snap and tried to set it on the wide windowsill. It slid off, of course, and thudded to the floor. Not bothering to pick it up, she pulled the covers up and slid down, head on pillow, back to Fenn. Pretending to be asleep took less effort.

She couldn’t help wondering, though, just how long they’d dance around in this stalemate. She feared initiating anything before he was ready, and perhaps his experience was so limited he didn’t know what to do. They could be deadlocked forever.

Ugh. What a terrible thought.

Had he ever been with a woman? If so, it couldn’t have been a great many of them considering how he reacted to just her bare breasts.

Fenn leaned over suddenly, and she looked up, holding her breath. He licked his forefinger and thumb, then reached to extinguish the candles, each with a tiny hiss as he pinched the flame. His eyes met hers briefly, then he settled in. The room was still dimly illuminated by the glowing, mossy vines. Now what?

Well, now they _ought_ to go to sleep and rest up for what would undoubtedly be _exhausting_ weeks to come. Could she even fall asleep, though? Probably not. Ouro wasn’t especially enthused by potentially spending the entire night awake and staring at the ceiling while Fenn so easily slumbered at her side. There was little chance her mind would quiet, unfortunately.

It felt as if an eternity had passed, but it could have been only a few minutes. It was even harder to tell whilst lying in bed in the dark. Though, even with no light at all, both of them could see perfectly well, of course. Vampire eyes were suited for darkness.

“You’re not asleep,” Fenn whispered.

“Well, neither are _you_.” She turned onto her back and found him observing her casually.

“Not tired.” He shrugged, bare shoulders visible above the edge of the blanket. The fact that he was so much bigger than she was seemed much more apparent than it usually was. She wasn’t petite or diminutive by any means, but Altmer were just so damned _big_. “May I touch you?” His question interrupted her rumination and physical inventory of his features. Her heart lodged itself back in her throat. Ouro nodded.

“Yes.” Her mind raced through every permutation of what he might do, despite her best efforts to quell it. The desire to always be ready for whatever might happen was difficult to repress. Embracing the unknown had always been a struggle when she’d worked so hard to anticipate worst-case scenarios.

He scooted a little closer to her, then brushed her hair back, letting his fingers trail down her cheek. The light touch sent a small shiver through her, and Fenn’s fingertips brushed her throat, then traced her collarbone. He met her gaze again, a small smile turning one corner of his mouth upward. What in the bloody fuck was her face doing that amused him?

“Did you expect me to ham-handedly paw at you?”

“I never know what to expect with you…but, no.” He’d defied her every expectation and preparation. There was no predicting what he might do. “But, just to be clear and avoid any confusion…you may put your hands on me wherever you’d like.” Would he, though? “You don’t have to, of course…” Could he feel the tremble? She hoped not.

“I appreciate your directness.” Despite her consent, Fenn’s innocent, anatomical adventure carried on down her arm, and he took her hand, linking his fingers with hers. The massive appendage dwarfed hers.

“Have…have you…ever…?” She couldn’t help asking; it _was_ relevant, depending on what all this would entail. The rest of the question was stuck, unspoken as she stared at him. It was a very personal thing, after all. The inquiry must have been plain on her face as he answered.

“I _was_ an adolescent at one point.” He smirked. “Though…I’m not sure that fleeting encounters in closets and sheds counted for much in terms of learning optimal techniques of physical intimacy.”

“Optimal techniques.” Ouro snickered. “A scholar through and through.”

“There _are_ cruder ways to phrase it.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Boldly, though, she pressed a light kiss to his lips, and Fenn seemed reluctant to let her stop.

“So…you haven’t since then?”

“My mind has been on other things. There were offers, but…” He shrugged one shoulder.

“Not all offers are worth taking.”

They were quiet for a long moment, lying there together. Ouro was unsure how to proceed as it was up to Fenn to set the pace.

“You can…I mean…” He paused, releasing her hand and running his fingers back through his hair a little anxiously. “You don’t have to be afraid to touch me because of what happened. With you, I feel like myself, like my skin is my own again.”

“Alright.” Gods how she wanted to feel him against her, beneath her hands, her fingers, her lips. “I will never do anything you don’t want me to…” Where was the line between reassuring and talking too much?

“I know.”

“I just wouldn’t want—” Ouro stopped as Fenn leaned down and kissed her firmly. Well, that was certainly an efficient way of pointing out the line. It was no chaste, tentative gesture like before. He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. She understood, feeling the coolness of his skin, the compact muscle underneath, and her thumb paused as it brushed over his nipple. His reaction was immediate.

Laden with longing and intent, his kiss sent fire through her body as she wrapped her arms around him. There was a lack of expertise, but skill wasn’t what she wanted. His lips were soft and insistent, and when hers parted, he didn’t hesitate to taste her. Somehow, it was a shock to feel his tongue stroking hers. It would have been only too easy to slip away from any restraint.

Slowly, he stopped, though, and watched her eyes, and Ouro couldn’t string so much as a sentence together. Though if they weren’t going to be talking for a while, that was perfectly fine by her.

“I apologize if I’m out of practice.”

“Um…” She blinked. “Not to worry.” She cleared her throat a little, finding her voice. “I suppose, like with everything else, Altmer are blessed with all manner of talents.” She gave a quiet laugh, but he looked down, hesitant. “Are you alright?”

“Yes…I…” He wasn’t, it was obvious. As he felt her tense up, though, his hold tightened a little. “Do you think it would be alright if we just…lie here…and get used to each other?”

“Yes, of course.” Ouro relaxed considerably. It was a relief to her as well; perhaps, all things considered, she wasn’t quite as ready as she thought.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, and I’m unsure what you might be expecting…”

“What?” She pulled back a little. “I don’t _expect_ anything, Fenn. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Being with you is enough. Lying here like this, or reading books, I don’t care.”

“I don’t know why your generosity and understanding is still a surprise to me.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “After everything before, it’s difficult not to simply believe everyone thinks of themselves.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing, no…don’t worry.” He smiled a little. “I don’t think that about you, I never have.” Fenn held her close, and she liked the way it felt to be held. He wanted to be near her, it wasn’t pity or a bid to get something _else_. “I don’t want to stop touching you…and, well, kissing you is…wonderful.” His lips grazed Ouro’s jaw, and his breath against her ear and neck all but undid her. “Obviously, I want you…” He glanced downward, and Ouro could feel exactly how much. “But I think tonight it would be best to just…be close.”

“That’s perfectly alright.”

“I’d like to kiss you again, though.”

“You’re welcome to do so, my previous permission still stands.”

“If I were to change my mind, though…”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

His mouth descended to hers, and it was as if lightning crackled over her skin. Ouro’s fingers toured what she could reach. From tangling in his hair, skating across his broad shoulders, down his sides, over the smooth planes and contours of him.

Fenn kissed her neck, his mouth hovering for a moment over the spot he’d bit her before. She could feel him tense up a little, and it wasn’t difficult to deduce that he wanted to do it again. At least this time, they were alone and in private.

“Do it.” She whispered, remembering how it felt. He pushed himself up, the red in his eyes had darkened, and no doubt hers had as well. Shifting, Fenn moved over her, his thigh wedged between hers.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.” Even her certainty demanded satisfaction. Ouro’s breath came faster as she felt his fangs pricking her skin. She gasped as he bit down, closing her eyes through that flood of pleasure, tinged with pain. It felt forbidden but so delectable. No one could do this to her but Fenn. It was sacred. Her breath caught as his grip tightened, and his hips pressed down into hers.

No amount of deep breathing or mental distractions were going to stop the inevitable this time, but Ouro knew that already. Fenn lapped up her blood, perhaps not even aware as he moved against her. When he groaned, the final shreds of self-control snapped, and with a sharp cry, her body convulsed regardless of her efforts to remain somewhat still. Heels dug into the mattress, she bowed up against him as the climax gripped her. It was all she could do not to beg to have him inside her. At least there was some semblance of intelligence left in her. Her shaking hands snaked beneath the waist of his breeches as she gripped his backside, pulling him tighter against her.

Fenn released her as the pleasure ebbed, eyes wide as he stared down, her blood still on his mouth. It was an odd time to be overcome with shyness, but she was and turned her face away.

“You…that was…” There was a certain degree of awe in his voice. Curiosity, winning over, made her glance up at him.

“What? Haven’t you seen an orgasm before?” Saying it aloud made her feel even more flushed.

“Not one caused by me.” Came his sheepish response.

Oh. _Oh_. This was going to be interesting; there was so _very_ much she could show him. His knowledge, undoubtedly, was vast, depending on how much research he might have done, but as he said before, learning in practice was much different.

“Well…now you have.” She squirmed despite her muscles feeling as if they’d turned to mush.

Fenn moved down a little, and his eyes were nearly black as he began to pluck open button after button on her nightshirt. He hadn’t said he changed his mind, so all she could do was watch and wait for him to say so. With the final one undone, he laid the fabric open, eyes raking up and down her bare form. The scars she bore didn’t matter to him, and he bent to kiss her breast, tongue experimentally circling the rigid peak. He left a streak of her blood behind as his lips migrated to the valley between them, descending farther.

What was he doing? Was he doing what she thought he was doing?! Perhaps he’d gotten more ideas from that book than he’d let on. Each movement was slightly hesitant, and his eyes met hers often as he gauged her reactions. What a considerate lover he would make. His hands explored, cupping her breasts, trailing down her ribs. Despite her nakedness, and the ache to feel him touching her, his lips and hands ceased their descent at her navel. His fingertips trailed lightly over her skin and suddenly halted, gently circling one spot on her hip, near the base of her belly. If he kept looking, he would find a matching set on the opposite side.

 _No_.

Ouro was frozen, begging silently for him to move on. _No, no, no_ …

“What’s this?” He half murmured it to himself, lifting his head to look. He hadn’t stopped at her other scars and blemishes for examination, but his thumb moved back and forth across the thin, silvery depressions.

Fenn’s brows drew together, and he pushed himself up further.

“Ouro, these…”

“No, don’t.” She exhaled the words, trembling suddenly. Her heart was beating harder, but it wasn’t excitement anymore. _Damn it_ , why hadn’t she stopped him?

“You…”

“ _Please_.” She’d never begged in her life, and the frantic note in her voice startled him. The sudden burst of fear and anguish had summarily extinguished her desire. He looked down again and sat up, blinking as she watched him piece it together.

It was the only evidence she had, the only reminder, that tiny, nearly invisible set of pale, thin, stripes. After everything that had happened inside the last week, she simply didn’t have it in her to revisit that pain. Talking about it would make it real all over again, and she just wasn’t ready for that. The number of years that had gone by didn’t matter.

“Oh, my gods…you…” It was hard to read his face. Was it shock? Horror? Disgust? What was it? Did she even want to know? Ouro shook her head quickly, silently beseeching that for now he just leave this be.

Hastily, she pulled her nightshirt closed and wiped at her eyes, looking away.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed, moving back up to lie beside her. To her surprise, though, he gathered her in his arms, nearly crushing her against his chest.

He knew. The thing she’d kept from everyone but a dead Clever Woman. Fennorian could see her; he could see _into_ her and through those carefully constructed barriers.

“I’m sorry.” He said again and kissed her hair. “I won’t…I…you don’t have to say anything.” Grateful, she closed her eyes, pressing her face against him, and in silence, he let her cry.


	17. Into the Fray

Fennorian opened his eyes, finding the pillow beside his vacant. He’d have been _more_ surprised if Ouro had been there. Sleep had been sporadic at best throughout the night, but he was reasonably certain that Ouro had gotten none at all. All things considered, he’d expected nothing less, since, in the midst of particularly heated, amorous attentions, having someone inadvertently uncover your most profound and painful trauma tended not to be especially conducive to peaceful sleep.

So much for resting up before leaping headfirst back into the chaos.

He’d been left feeling rather terrible about it all, not _meaning_ to figure it out, of course. He’d been perfectly content to wait until she deemed it appropriate to share anything. After all, Ouro had made no demands of him to reveal his own demons. In fact, she’d been shockingly tolerant and ceaselessly respectful regarding his history, thoughts, and feelings. Fennorian had done his level best to return the same courtesy; he just…couldn’t help that his mind assembled puzzle pieces whenever available.

Not that she was a puzzle. What was it Verandis had said? _She’s a person, not a project, Fennorian._ It didn’t cease to amaze him just how much she had given of herself, as someone with such a long and colorful history. Though, that color was mostly _red_. From the blood and all…

The facts of the matter weighed heavily on him, though. Having never had any children, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what losing one must have felt like. It didn’t make him very well equipped to be of any assistance, but he’d make do. She wasn’t about to turn to anyone else about it.

Fennorian folded his arms behind his head, mind continuing to wander as he gazed up at the glowing vines that crept across the ceiling. He knew what Ouro was capable of; what she’d done for him in Blackreach was something he would _never_ forget. He’d seen powerful vampires, but never anything like what she displayed. It was fortunate that her experiences hadn’t led her down a much darker path.

Unbidden, and at the moment unwelcome, the memory of the taste of her blood rose up. With it came the echoes of the sensation it brought him to feed on her. And last night, as she writhed beneath him, he’d tasted every heartbeat, feeling it hasten with her arousal. When she’d so readily reached the pinnacle of her pleasure, her blood gushed into his mouth. The mere thought stoked the hunger in him, though not for blood.

He’d fought against the surge of blinding need that had overcome him after drinking from her. She’d been lying there, ready, accessible, and more than amenable to the idea, but blood fueled lust wasn’t how he wanted it to be with them. Certainly not the first time, anyway. Gods, his self-control was probably the only powerful thing about him, second only to his intellect.

“Are you getting up this morning?” Ouro’s abrupt question dragged him back to the here and now, and Fennorian cleared his throat. He hadn’t even noticed her come in and walk right up to the bed.

“Yes, of course…” Quickly he sat up, and her expression softened, eyes lowering to his lap.

“Out of _bed_ , I mean.” She folded her arms, the devilish smirk he liked so much on her lips. Fennorian glanced down to where he was fully erect beneath the little tent he’d created with the blanket and quickly grabbed a pillow to cover himself.

“Ahem. Apologies.”

“Your things are on the dressing table.” As she left the room, he watched. How could he not? Since her red leathers had been burned, she’d donned some that were dark blue, gray, and black. They were a bit better tailored to her figure, and he was more grateful than ever for his ability to focus when the need called for it. Distractions were dangerous at a time like this.

He rose, stripped down, and had a quick wash-up before starting to dress. His leathers were clean, the shirt and underthings recently washed and pressed even. He needed to remember to thank Brynn for such quick work.

While it was something of a relief that Ouro didn’t appear to still be utterly devastated _or_ avoiding him, it was concerning that she seemed perfectly alright. What had happened the night before was not something a person should be _perfectly alright_ with mere hours later. She was no ordinary person, though. Fennorian imagined she would say she was no person at all, just another monster pretending to be one. He whole-heartedly disagreed. Ouro was one of the few vampires he’d met that were anything but monsters.

Unfortunately, she’d had more than six hundred years to perfect her technique for neatly boxing up particularly potent emotions. And then she’d tuck them away on some shelf so that they might detonate a couple hundred years later very inconveniently whilst on the brink of making love to someone. There _had_ to be healthier coping mechanisms.

Last night could have gone _much_ differently. _So_ differently, he thought, that their arrival to the Blue Palace would not have been quite so bright and early. Alas, he’d opened his mouth the instant the evidence had fallen into place. It would have been a nightmare otherwise, to carry that around with him and not tell her that he knew. It was bad enough what he _had_ been keeping from her. It was all out in the open now. They’d weather the aftermath just as they had everything else.

* * *

.

* * *

There was rarely ever cause to visit the Blue Palace despite Ouro’s house being within walking distance. For the most part, the guards didn’t bat an eye at their approach, which was odd since not very long ago, the queen had been _assassinated_.

“I hope the king isn’t an early riser. I don’t really want to run into him.” Ouro reached for the door handle that led into the palace proper. “He doesn’t like me much.”

“Well, you’re not special in that regard. It’s my understanding that Svargrim doesn’t even like his own daughter, so…” Fenn followed her inside.

“That’s a fair point.” In the foyer, she looked up at him. “Are you ready for this? A lot of what happened will undoubtedly get dredged up.”

“Ready? No.” He shook his head, hand on the handle of the inner door. “But I am in possession of all my faculties, so…we must do what we must. Many lives depend on it.” He turned the handle and in they went.

The place seemed all but deserted. Concerned, Ouro glanced around, looking for guards or anyone at all to ask after the princess. Had they all been taken down by assassins? It wasn’t _that_ early in the morning that no one would have risen yet.

“Up here.” A voice called out to them. Ouro and Fennorian looked up to see Savien at the top of the large, curved staircase. He was smiling, but there were dark circles under his eyes. Apparently, he hadn’t slept much either, though she doubted it was for any solemn reasons. “Just through there, Lyris and Svana are waiting.” Savien pointed to a door as they reached the top, and Fenn headed in.

“So. Which Ravenwatch sister was it?” Ouro leaned in confidentially.

“The little Breton. She needed some cheering up.” A wide grin split his face.

“You’re a dog.” She gave a snort. “Taking advantage of her fragile state.”

“Not at all, she’d heard that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else, so…how could I refuse to help a friend in need?” Savien nudged her with his elbow, giving a lewd wink.

“Well, good on you, at least, for not being prejudiced toward vampires.”

“Oh, no…never.” He pulled his collar aside, revealing the bites he’d gotten the night before. “Vampires are _fun_.” He straightened it again before they went into Svana’s chambers. “What about you? Did you _heal_ our little scholar with your body?” The intrusive Breton cocked an eyebrow at her, then waggled them suggestively, getting entirely too close to her. Ouro leaned forward again as though to share a bawdy tale.

“Don’t make me _hurt_ you with my body, Savien.” Taking him by the shoulders, she planted a knee exactly where it would deter him from being distracted for at least a little while. It wasn’t enough to cause any damage, of course. Just…playful, really.

“Oof…by the gods…” Clutching his groin, Savien slid to the floor, laughing. Clearly, it wasn’t the first knee he’d taken to the balls. Ouro could only shake her head. Fennorian, Lyris, and Svana were all staring, though.

“Is he…okay?” The tall, red-haired young woman looked concerned, eyes flicking from the demented rogue wheezing with pain and amusement on the floor to Ouro and back again.

“He…needed a little focus,” Ouro explained.

Lyris made an impatient noise. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

“And you are?” There was suspicion in Svana’s dark eyes as she peered at Ouro.

“This is Ouro Aduen, the one we told you about,” Lyris answered before Ouro could. At least if they’d talked about her already, it was less she had to say.

“ _Oh_.” Suspicion dissipated, replaced with curiosity. “You don’t look very…” The princess was trying to be polite, searching for a better word than _undead_ , but all she could do was look at Fenn.

“So I am told.” She was safely behind her inscrutable mask. “Last time I was here was…” Ouro paused, trying to place the last couple decades of memories. “Maybe twenty years ago. You were still a very little girl, and your mother was kind to me, despite what I am. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you…it’s…been difficult.”

The map that had been found in Tzinghalis’s quarters was laid out on a large table as three marked locations upon it were discussed at length. Ouro stood quietly by, listening, and feeling a little strange that for once, she wasn’t leading. Savien had recovered and was heavily involved in the planning. Seeing him sober and focused gave her a little more hope for their chances of success. He loved to _love_ , but at least he knew that there was a time and a place for it.

Ouro would go where Fenn went. When it was decided that he would venture to the coastal camp where the Reach witches were making the mysterious protection medallions, he covertly gave her hand a squeeze. He wanted her with him, and she nodded her assent.

Taking the one medallion that they had already, she turned it over in her hands, peering at the markings on it and feeling the magic it was infused with. There were several components to it, not unlike the harrowstorms, and they were right in thinking this thing was the key to finding a way to protect the citizens of the city.

“Can you discern anything about it?” Fenn asked as the others made their preparations to leave. Ouro handed it to him, shaking her head.

“Besides coming to the same conclusion that you all have already, no.” Given significantly more time to deconstruct the medallion, she could learn more, but time was in very short supply.

As he had been all morning, Fenn was watching her out the side of his eye. She’d caught him just outright looking at her more than once, and it was precisely what she’d feared would happen if he knew what he knew. No concern or condolences would change anything, it was _hundreds_ of years ago. _Actual_ centuries had passed, and she’d learned to live with it because there was no other option. Last night…well, it had been a perfect storm of heightened emotions. In spite of it all, though, what boggled her mind was that she felt a modicum of relief.

“I wish you’d stop looking at me like that.” She murmured, once everyone else was out of earshot.

“Like what?” Fenn rigidly drew himself up to his full height like he did when he was abruptly uncomfortable, as though he was about to flee or defend a thesis.

“Like an anxious mother hen.” She sighed. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I understand and appreciate your concern, but…”

“That’s not why I…I _wouldn’t_.” He spluttered. “Last night, we nearly…” With his cheeks darkening, she stared up at him feeling very, _very_ stupid. Yes, _other_ things had gone on _before_ his untimely discovery. Of course, he would be thinking about that.

“Ohhh…” How very foolish and self-centered of her. “I am an ass.”

Fenn relaxed, smiling a little. “Well…we all have our moments.” Ouro’s mouth fell open as he smirked, but his gaze moved to something behind her. “I think Lyris wants to speak with you.” Turning, Ouro saw that he was correct.

“Alright.” She let out a long breath. “I’ll meet you at the stairs then.” Ouro already knew full well what this conversation was going to be, and frankly, it was a bit underhanded.

“How is he? _Really_?” Lyris asked, confirming her suspicions.

“Are you asking me because you care for his wellbeing or because you think he could be a liability?” Ouro folded her arms.

“Can’t it be both?” The towering half-giant didn’t look like she was in the mood for an argument. Her size made Ouro feel like a toddler; she even dwarfed Fenn!

“Trust his decision to come here and what he says. You know by now, I’m sure, that he will do whatever he has to.”

“You’re right.” Lyris nodded. “He’s a good kid, vampire or not. I just hope he’s alright after what happened.”

“We’ve all had our horrors, have we not? And we’ve all come out the other side of them different in some way, but…we came out. He’s stronger than he thinks…but it is good to have friends.”

The short walk from the palace to Ouro’s house was brisk and mostly devoid of discussion. Mentally, she organized, listing what they’d need, calculating riding time, plotting the most efficient route. Fenn muttered about various alchemical formulas, thinking aloud as he sometimes did. Off in his head, he followed her to the little one-horse stable at the back of her manor.

Ouro started getting Brazzelac ready. The massive equine creature looked eager to get out and about, stomping his hooves excitedly in his stall. Had there been room, he’d have turned in circles and pranced. He loved the pre-ride tension and what it meant.

“Oh…erm…” Fenn blinked, realizing he stood in the midst of hay and horse manure. “We will need a second horse, won’t we?”

“No, the ride I intend to take would kill an ordinary horse. Brazz can handle us both just fine. He’s a brawny beast.” She got the saddle into place.

“I recall you mentioning that he was quite old…I am curious, how have you managed that?”

“Well, Brazzelac isn’t a horse at all. Are you, my lovely?” She patted his neck, and his excited agitation got stronger. He swung his head, thumping into her until she tsked and grabbed hold of the bridle. “The Riders would have killed thousands upon thousands of horses over the years, just from sheer exhaustion, so we found a better way. Brazz and his siblings, of which there are many, are daedra. They’re intelligent, sapient beings that, very fortunately for us, prefer to live as spoiled and adored horses in Nirn rather than be some bigger daedra’s dinner in Oblivion.” She explained. “They’re stronger, faster, and carry unique power of their own. They’re also resilient and nigh unto impossible to kill.”

“Fascinating.” Fenn murmured, sidling closer to look at Brazz. “With as much as we don’t know about Oblivion and all the realms it contains, I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised. In truth, I feared he was perhaps like those _bears_ we spotted in Blackreach.”

“Gods, no!” She laughed. Brazzelac stomped his hooves in warning as Fenn’s curiosity seemed to encroach upon some invisible boundary. “Be nice, you paranoid ninny. He’s a friend.” Ouro gave the bridle a little shake, with a short glare. She couldn’t stop the grin that resurfaced, though, as she mirrored the horse’s excitement and eager anticipation. She wanted very much to get out and speed across open fields and along roads, navigating paths and passages that so few others knew about. There was an indescribable freedom she felt when riding.

“It’ll be quite a long ride…judging by my calculations and the scaling on that map, we’ve got about two hundred and fifty miles to go.” Fenn nodded, eyeing Brazz a little warily. The horse eyed him right back then looked at Ouro and back again, giving a loud snort. She tightened a strap.

“Yes, that’s the way of it.” She murmured to him. A few hundred years together, and she knew what every look and gesture meant.

“What’s the way of what?” Fenn inched backward when Brazzelac stretched his nose toward the young Altmer in what might have been a peace offering, perhaps, but he was so twitchy sometimes.

“You and I.” Ouro smiled, looking over at him. “You’d better get what things you need to bring along. It’s going to be a long ride. Hopefully, you can deal with my _ample backside_ wedged between your legs for that long.”

“I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Certainly not.”

Ouro tied Brazz to the hitch out front before going into the house to gather a few supplies. One advantage of vampirism was that packing provisions was a good deal simpler than it would be for the living. They’d need blood, of course, writing implements, things to write on, clean shirts, in case of extra violent stabbings. Considering that the trip would be a few days at most, there wasn’t _too_ much they needed.

In her bedchamber, having gathered the items she needed, Ouro paused, looking at the bed. Fenn wasn’t the only one who’d been thinking about the more pleasant aspects of the previous night. It felt unlikely that either of them would be able to continue mustering the self-restraint required to keep postponing the inevitable.

She heard him come in behind her and turned. Before she could comment, though, he reached up, touching her hair lightly.

“I’m glad you’re willing to come with me. Though I hope you don’t feel that you _have_ to.”

“You weren’t an obligation to begin with, and you aren’t now. I’ve made my choice.” Not wanting to sound harsh, she smiled, moving a little closer. “You worry an awful lot.”

“It _is_ one of my stronger talents.”

“Well, you can save your energy for more important things.” Ouro idly adjusted one of the fastenings on his leathers, brushing away some invisible lint. Fenn arched a brow at her in question. “That’s not what I meant…but, I suppose you’re not wrong.”

There wasn’t time for more than a kiss, and perhaps it was unwise to allow for even that small distraction, but for the moment, she didn’t care. Fenn, and his powers of observation, quickly discerned what she wanted and bent to happily oblige. The feel of his lips pressed to hers was as enticing and heady as the night before.

Being so damned tall, though, he was stooped as she strained up on her toes. With a small, frustrated noise, Fenn took her by the waist and hoisted her up. He pressed her back against the armoire, and its feet scraped across the floor before hitting the wall behind. Ouro did not object to this at all and helpfully wrapped her legs around him.

“That’s better.” She breathed and kissed him again.

There was something about his eagerness, an innocence in his enthusiasm that acted as fuel to the fire. His intentions were pure in that he wanted her for her, there was nothing else he sought to achieve. Honest, genuine affection was almost a foreign concept to her. Ouro slowed things down just a little, stroking his hair, brushing her lips lightly across his before taking the bottom one gently between her teeth. He smiled. She felt the burning urgency as much as he did, but there just wasn’t enough time right now.

Fenn pulled back a little, searching her eyes, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was looking for. The same thing she was, probably. It was a little unnerving, but not necessarily in a bad way. Ouro kissed his jaw, then his neck, and his ear. As her teeth grazed his lobe, his entire body tensed as he exhaled sharply. She made note of his reaction, smiling to herself, pleased to have found such a spot. Fenn pressed her harder against the wardrobe, though, and claimed her mouth again. His tongue sought hers, and she responded in kind, growing more insistent, holding him tighter. They were getting carried away.

Ouro pulled back, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. A moment more and she’d have been yanking open buckles and ties to get at him.

“You’re not supposed to be quite so good at this.” She murmured.

“I’m not?” He tilted his head a little, amused. “I suppose if you’d like, I could try to drool…”

“No, no. That’s...no.”

“Just say the word, and I shall endeavor to be as disappointing as necessary.”

“You’re not even a little bit disappointing. It’s just so very inconvenient that the entire province needs saving right now.”


	18. Where It Started

Brazzelac, being what he was, took Ouro and Fenn from Solitude to the coastal camp in about fourteen hours with only a couple quick stops to stretch. Such a ride would have rendered any mortal useless for days afterward.

It was just after dawn, and the sun was slowly crawling its way up. After so long on horseback, though, Ouro was in much better shape than Fenn, and she watched him stretching and wincing, snow crunching beneath his feet. This only went on so long before he gave in and used some healing spell on himself to soothe his abused muscles.

“Why didn’t you just do that the instant you got off the horse?” She eyed him as he tugged at his jacket then shouldered the small pack he’d brought.

“Do _you_ always jump to magic before exploring other avenues to solve a problem?” He knew she didn’t, and she simply sighed and shook her head. They had about half a mile left to walk still, not wanting to gallop up and risk drawing the attention of Reach witches or Gray Host vampires. Both were reportedly at this camp by the dozens.

“Are you just going to leave the horse…” Fenn halted, looking around for Brazz, who had vanished silently. “Bloody daedra.” He muttered.

“Do daedra make you that uncomfortable?” Ouro grinned.

“Me and every rational person in Tamriel.”

They alternated between moving as mist and walking, avoiding anything that might make their presence known. The heavy silence that hung around them was laden with more than just the effort to go undetected. It was too quiet without the usual running commentary of Fenn’s thinking aloud.

“Well, out with it.” Ouro looked up at him when they stopped for a moment.

“Out with what?”

“Whatever is fueling your silent consternation.” She was catching on to his tells.

“I…well, the harrowstorms…”

“Bullshit.” She smiled a little, calling out his fib. He squirmed.

“It’s nothing.” Fenn fidgeted, plucking at the needles of a frosty pine bough. Ouro crossed her arms, saying nothing. “Alright, alright! Goodness. You’re relentless.” He sighed, watching her for a moment, and she could practically see him mulling over whatever he was having difficulty articulating. “Do you…do you think there is much difference between Verandis and me?”

Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“Besides a few thousand years, your personalities, life experiences, overall appearance, voice, thoughts, and feelings? You’re going to have to be more specific…” Ouro hoped he wasn’t asking what she thought he was asking.

“Well…there _are_ similarities. Altmer, intelligent, scholarly, committed to not drinking from the unwilling…”

“Don’t forget, male and vampire as well.” She gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to ask. Are you looking for an itemized list? Because I’m not going to give you one. The two of you are apples and oranges.”

“I…I know, it’s not even fair of me to have said anything…” He looked down at his hands.

“Oh, Fennorian.” She let out a long breath. He was young; it was only natural that he experienced perhaps a little bit of insecurity. It _was_ a strange situation, given the circumstances. “Look at it this way. What do you think about those hurried experiences in closets and sheds you mentioned the other night?” He straightened up considerably.

“Almost nothing.”

“Well, there you have it.” She watched as it sank in, and slowly, he nodded.

“I see.” He looked substantially less bothered. “That makes sense.”

“You like facts, Fennorian. Lay out the facts if you must, to stem the flow of these concerns if they resurface for whatever reason.” She smiled and then turned to continue down the hill.

“Yes, of course.” He murmured, following after her, getting that look about him that he did whilst mentally organizing.

Below, as they descended the hill, a house came into view. Figures were milling about, and some had the distinct, feral appearance typically associated with Reachmen. Ouro made a face; she did not especially care for Reachmen. Tugging Fenn down with her, they crouched behind jagged stone jutting upward.

“They’re exhuming bodies?” He peered over the edge.

“It certainly isn’t the first time I’ve seen Reachmen fiddling about with the dead.” She didn’t hide her disdain. There was a ripple of energy, and it came from behind. The sort of effect an imperfect portal might cause. Fenn felt it, too, and looked over, a small, questioning frown furrowing his brow.

“What…?”

Ouro didn’t turn to address the new arrival. She didn’t have to. “You know, Savien, half-assed portals like that are dangerous for several reasons.” Fenn whirled around to see the Breton approaching.

“I know a guy who knows a guy.” He crouched down with them.

“I figured as much.” She finally looked back at him. “If someone with as much magical talent as you have tried to create a portal, something would get severed. It’s safe to say, I think, that that’s not a risk you’re willing to take.”

Savien nodded in agreement. “Though…how much magical talent would you say that is?”

“About as much as the water you pour off curd when making cheese.” Ouro shrugged.

Fenn gave a very un-Altmer-like, and undignified snort, which he tried to muffle, but several wicker-clad heads turned in their direction. As the trio hunched lower behind the boulder, he silently mouthed his apology.

“Well, the two of you had better work out what you’re going in there to look for. In the meantime, I will go sew the seeds of dissension and perhaps distract from your rifling about.” Ouro left Savien and Fenn to their own devices and made her way around the camp’s other side.

The coven members wouldn’t be expecting outside vampires to be working against them, and so it would be easy enough to spark an even greater mistrust between them and the Gray Host. All she needed to do was leave a few Reach witch bodies lying about having obviously been killed by a vampire. Best case scenario: medallion production would halt as infighting grew worse. Worst case: well…some Reachmen died. So…win-win, really.

The shocked face behind the first wicker mask that Ouro tore off reminded her why despite the downsides of being what she was, sometimes there was simply too much pleasure in the taste of fear not to enjoy it once in a while.

Savien did a doubletake, looking a little bit disturbed when he noticed Ouro’s approach as she returned, so she tried to look less pleased with herself. Fenn hadn’t noticed yet, as he was busy with some ferocious notetaking, scribbling frantically with the nub of a pencil he kept tucked in his leathers.

“You, ah…you got just a little…” Savien pointed to one side of his mouth. “…something…”

“Here?” She rubbed her chin, fingers coming up bloody.

“Well, it’s just…it’s right…” He gestured to his entire face. “…there.” Indeed, she had not been neat about the havoc she’d wreaked; ripping out throats tended to be messy business. Sometimes, if she did it just right, the arterial spray made an interesting red flower shape in the snow. Ouro used some snow to clean off.

“Better?”

“I think you’ll probably need a bit more of a wash…”

“Ah, well, I’ll find a stream to dunk myself in later.” Looking down at her leathers, though, she saw the rest of the mess. Tutting, she passed her hands over it, and the blood came off as dust. “There.” She smiled at Savien again. “So, did you find what you’re looking for?”

“Oh, yes.” It was Fenn who answered. “With the right ingredients, I’m feeling rather confident that we’ll whip up an elixir in no time.”

“Good.” She nodded. “We’d better depart sooner rather than later; I think they’re starting to notice my…handiwork.” Several witches were dashing across the compound toward the area where Ouro had left all the evidence.

Brazzelac materialized behind Savien and snorted, startling the Breton, who whirled around. He sighed, though, and gave her a level look.

“Well. I guess your abbreviated travel time makes more sense now.”

Once Fennorian’s notes were satisfactorily thorough, they made a hasty retreat. Ouro wasn’t sure where Savien was headed, and she didn’t ask. Their part was done, and they were at least able to move at a less break-neck pace. This much time riding, she was fairly certain that Fenn would appreciate staying in one place for a bit.

After the sun had gone down, Ouro largely let Brazz lead the way. He knew that region as well as she did, and her mind was wandering anyway.

“I know those trees…” Fenn murmured. “May I?” He pointed at the reins held loosely in her hands, and she gave them over.

“Have at it.” She wasn’t sure what he had in mind since their goal was to return to Solitude and await word from the others. She stayed quiet as he left the already barely visible path she’d been following and wove through trees and brush. Ahead, through the darkness, she saw a small structure, and as they drew closer, she realized it was a little cabin. The windows were dark, and no smoke rose from its small, stone chimney.

Then it clicked.

“Is that…?” Ouro looked up over her shoulder, and Fenn nodded.

“Indeed.” He looked rather proud of himself. “The cabin where you rescued me with your bottles of blood and good company.”

“Well, you’ve learned the lay of the land quickly, haven’t you?” She laughed.

“It’s quite late. I can’t imagine all the others will make it back even in the next few days since none of them can travel quite like this.” There was the slightest, nervous note in his voice that had nothing to do with travelling in the dark.

“And…you’d like to stop here for the night?”

“Well, I don’t see why not. It was a tidy little place, all things considered.” He was feigning some nonchalance, and she felt him shrug.

“Alright. If that’s what you’d like, then that’s what we’ll do.” Ouro had an inkling as to what he was thinking. It was kind of sweet, really, being at the place she first came to him on purpose and without the influence of any guilt-trip ridden letters from a certain ancient Altmer.

Someone had been in the cabin since the last time they’d been there. Everything had been swept and tidied, and there was new ticking filled with wool for the mattress. If it was being used by hunters, they were the cleanest Ouro had ever seen. She’d been in well-used hunting lodges before, and typically they were fairly disgusting.

How very convenient. Well, she wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth. Gesturing toward the fireplace, it lit and began to warm the room. The candles were all stubs, and she rebuilt them, then lit those, too. Fenn entered and tossed down the tightly rolled blankets she’d brought and then unshouldered the saddlebags, setting them carefully down. He shut and bolted the door before crouching down to rummage for a bottle of blood. Unlike Ouro, he hadn’t had the chance to feed earlier on any of the Reach Witches. It was probably for the best that he hadn’t witnessed that.

“Brazzelac will be fine out there?” He stood, bottle in hand, and uncorked it.

“He was the last time we were here.” She gave a shrug and, with her boot, pulled a stool out from under the small table to sit.

“True.” Fenn drank then held the bottle out to her, but she shook her head, starting to unlace her boots.

It had to be after midnight, and though she ought to have been tired, she wasn’t. Ouro eyed the bed, glancing from it to Fenn and back again as she mulled over the inevitability that had been hounding them both.

“I don’t want you to think that I…well, what I mean is…” He started to fidget and put the cork back in the bottle as, apparently, Ouro’s thoughts were hopelessly transparent to him.

“Not to worry, Fennorian, I’ve never thought that you had dastardly designs or intent.” She tugged off the boots and got up, doing her best to appear calm and cool despite the fire that had been burning exponentially hotter every day that passed. “Whatever the case, I don’t intend to sit around in my leathers all night.” The scant composure she’d affected was betrayed by the hasty unfastening of the buckles and straps on her jacket. Noting this, she switched instead to untying the blanket rolls and unfurling them over the bed. Thankfully, it was a bed built for Nords and not Bretons.

With the bed being some semblance of made, Ouro was able to more calmly return to the removal of her jacket, which she laid across a rickety chest at the foot of the bed. She made herself mostly ignore him as he stood apart from her, undressing as well. Her boots were neatly beside the chest, leggings laid neatly with jacket, stockings stuffed in boots…she was just in her shirt, the hem of which reached the middle of her thighs. She’d taken a very brisk dip in an icy stream when they’d stopped for a break earlier, getting rid of what blood was left on her skin from the Reachmen.

Ouro finally looked over to Fenn, where he stood in nothing but his breeches, and she was more than reasonably sure that he had no intention of sleeping in those. What was she afraid of? _Why_ did she feel so nervous about something that, when desired, had never in all her life ever given her cause to hesitate?

She’d asked herself those questions before, and the answer hadn’t changed. The more she thought about it, the more anxious she became. Though, it wasn’t dread, by any means. With him, it meant something more than physical gratification, and that was altogether unfamiliar.

“Do you…” She took a breath. “Do you think that we are used to each other?” 

Fenn nodded, approaching.

“Yes. And I…give of myself freely.” He pinned her with his gaze, bright with longing and need. “I trust you.” He whispered. “I trust that whatever you wish to do, that it is…that it’s born of affection…” He swallowed audibly and blinked several times, steeling himself. “…of love.” Ouro nodded, unable to speak yet, but took his hands. “And most of all, I trust you to stop.” The loss of his bodily autonomy had scarred him, and despite his trust in her, it would take time for him to trust her more easily.

She nodded again, vigorously. “Always.” Fenn brought her hands to the edge of his waistband, and she gently pulled at the tie, unlacing the fly. Beneath it, the linen shorts had two buttons, which she unfastened, her knuckles brushing against the dark hair that ran from his navel downward.

Ouro saw the thick, rigid outline of him against his left leg and watched his face react as she slid her hand down along the length. Fenn’s breath caught, and his lips parted ever so slightly. She couldn’t help wondering if he eased his own urges in private or if she was about to face years of pent-up sexual energy. Though, the thought of seeing him do that incited her desire further. The way he responded to her touch fascinated her. She’d never been with someone of limited experience before. He might require some guidance, but it also meant he hadn’t had much opportunity to form any… _ineffective_ habits.

Taking hold of his garments, Ouro gave them a light tug and sent them sliding down to pool at Fennorian’s feet. She’d seen him bare-chested, of course, and glimpsed his shapely backside, not to mention she’d had it clutched in both hands just the other night, which had been, to put it mildly, a delight. And now, he stood before her in all his unclothed perfection. Once again, she couldn’t help noting just how unfair it was that the Altmer were so effortlessly beautiful.

He was thin but not skeletal, and still, he was like a marble work of art. Her eyes moved over him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, across the planes of his chest, then continued downward as she took a step back. Altmer men weren’t especially hairy, but there was a fine line that descended to a patch of russet curls.

He was a seven-foot-tall, appropriately proportional elf. Typically, Ouro was of the opinion that a cock was a cock, but in this case, she felt perhaps a bit biased in Fenn’s favor, considering her feelings for him. He was, without a doubt, aesthetically pleasing _everywhere_. Given his thirst for knowledge, propensity for practice, and what she found to be an endearing desire to satisfy…there was little doubt that he would be physically pleasing as well.

“I’d have never guessed anyone would find reason to gape at my naked body.” Fenn cleared his throat.

“What? I am _not_ gaping…” She was. Ouro closed her mouth and dared to look him in the eye again. His cheeks were almost crimson. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you.” She felt her own blush blooming, somewhat to her horror.

“No, no…I’m not embarrassed.” He reached for the hem of her shirt, though, and without hesitation, she put her arms up, letting him take it off her. A small shiver of excitement coursed through her. “Oh, you’re cold…” Fenn turned to pick up one of the blankets at once, but she shook her head.

“No, I’m just…I’m not.” She smiled, drawing up close to him. She was a vampire; she didn’t _get_ cold. That fact seemed to dawn on him. She forgave the sluggish realization since, well, a good deal of the blood from his brain was presently being utilized elsewhere.

“Ah, right…of course…though perhaps we…it might be more comfortable to…” He stopped and composed himself. “Would you come to bed with me?”

“Yes, of course.” Her heart pounded like a girl who’d never made love before, and she undulated between feeling silly for being so excited and being completely and absolutely smitten with him. Ouro had never had cause to feel this way, and fought to allow herself to have this, to embrace the joy and enthusiasm that came from sharing herself with someone she truly cared for.

They climbed into bed, and the ropes beneath the mattress briefly creaked in protest. Ouro and Fennorian lay facing one another, quiet for a long moment. He looked nervous, so she moved closer and pressed a light kiss to his lips. He let his hand rest on her hip as she did her best to look as non-threatening as possible. Being naked assisted with that immensely.

“I think I’d like it if we took our time.” She grinned as he was flooded with relief.

“Yes, please…I would like that as well…”

“What were you so worried about?”

“I don’t know yet what you like…or how to ensure you are satisfied…”

“There’s no _rubric_ by which you’ll be scored. Goodness, Fenn.” She laughed softly. “It isn’t just touching the right places for the right amount of time with the right amount of pressure. Which, I’m sure your very scientific brain would prefer a concise formula, but…” She wasn’t sure how to explain it. Fenn took her in his arms, though, holding her close. “It’s different when it’s…like this.”

“How do you know? Have you been in love before?” It wasn’t a question out of insecurity at all. It was just a question. He was his realest and truest self with her right now, just as much as she was figuratively _and_ literally laid bare before him, her walls all crumbled to dust in the wind.

Ouro shook her head. “No, but that’s how I know.” He was getting braver, using _that_ word. He had twice now, and though it frightened the living daylights out of her, he wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t just shy away from it.

Fenn kissed her, and it went on for a while as they tangled and entwined themselves together. The limits of Ouro’s self-control were already being stretched; her blood felt like it might boil if she didn’t have him soon. They were breathing hard, and every inch of her skin felt electric.

“How do you like to be touched?” He whispered close to her ear, and her eyes rolled back a little. Then he kissed her neck, and she struggled to regain her senses.

“You’re doing a fine job so far…touching me like I’m a person and not just limbs to be fondled for your pleasure.” She found his mouth again with a fervent kiss. “What about you? How shall I touch you?”

“However you’d like, I do enjoy the feel of your hands…your skin on mine…but, if it’s alright, I think this time I would like to just learn about you.” His fingertips trailed lightly down her side until she twitched a little as he brushed over a sensitive spot near her hip. He smiled.

“Alright.” She lifted her hands from where they’d been roaming across every place on him that she could reach, but Fenn caught them and put them back against him.

“I didn’t mean you have to stop, only that I want to concentrate on you.” His lips met hers with an ardent fervor that left her breathless. In some faraway place in Ouro’s brain, she remarked to herself, in shock, that there _was_ still something new for her to experience. He spoke again, pulling her from her carnal stupor. “I’ve never been invited to freely explore a woman’s body this way. Show me what to do.”

“Well…” She cleared her throat, doing her level best to gather enough focus to instruct him as he’d asked. “The first thing I’d like to know is…how familiar are you with anatomy?”

“I can say with more than a little confidence that my education was comprehensive. To hone my skills as a healer, I acquired an in-depth, albeit scholarly, mastery of the anatomy of humans and mer alike.” He gave a sure nod. “I mean, that applies to the beast races as well, of course. Healing is healing, and I will never hesitate to assist anyone who requires…”

“Fenn.” She held back a laugh.

“I suppose that _is_ irrelevant at the moment.”

“Indeed.” Her grin widened, but she tried to temper her amusement. “So. It’s probably safe, then, to guess there’s at least one particularly important thing you’re aware of.” She could only wonder how dismal his previous experiences must have been but pushed it out of mind.

“You mean this?” His hand slid from where it rested on her waist to between her thighs, and with astounding accuracy, one finger landed squarely, and with force, on the increasingly sensitive and swollen focal point. Her body jerked as she muffled an expletive against his chest.

“Yes… _that_ …gods, Fennorian… _gentle_ …” She let out a shuddering breath.

“Sorry…” The initial mashing was at once replaced with a feather-light touch, and she gasped again, but this time it was good. His observations went on, though. “You’re so…slippery…” Touching her that way excited him further, and she could feel his erection twitch a little against her. “And if I keep doing this, I will bring you to climax again?” He looked eager…and determined. Both were good qualities in a lover.

“Ever the scholar…” She panted and moved onto her back then reached down to guide his touch. “Like this…” He was a quick learner, picking up the motion and the pressure exactly as she demonstrated. “Though…”

“Though what?”

“Well…” Ouro took his wrist, pulling up his hand. Fenn watched in shocked fascination as she slid her lips down his index finger and then the middle, wetting them. The look on his face told her that his mind had gone precisely where she’d wanted it to. But _that_ was a lesson for another time. “Slip one finger inside, then use your thumb to do what I just showed you.” She showed him the coaxing motion to be used in tandem with his thumb, so he did as instructed, and her hips bucked, air hissing out through her teeth.

“Too much?”

“No.” Ouro shook her head quickly.

“You are…quite strong…” He murmured in amazement.

“Now, use both.” This was not going to take much work on his part. Though, perhaps that was because all their dillydallying all this time had gotten her so gods damned worked up.

“That’s too much, I don’t want to hurt you…” He frowned a little.

“ _This_ is bigger than your two fingers, Fenn, how do you suppose that’s going to fit if two fingers won’t?” She wrapped her hand around the appendage in question, and he inhaled sharply. “It will be fine, I assure you.”

There was less discussion as he focused on the task at hand. Ouro’s breath came fast and shallow, moving against him, urging him to keep going, to go faster, and to definitely not stop. He gladly complied and beamed triumphantly when she cried out, arching against his hand, her nails biting into his shoulders.

As the spasm dissipated, he took his hand away, feeling the trembling in her legs. He looked in awe, and it pleased her to have brought him such wonder and appreciation for the art of manual stimulation. It was something she had a particular fondness for, but that was a conversation she’d have with him later.

The room had gotten plenty warm, and Fenn threw off the blanket and explored Ouro’s body. Blissfully and torturously, he tested for erogenous places, determined to find them for himself, and making mental notes when he did. When she noticed him eyeing his pack on the floor, she forbade him from taking _actual_ notes, at least for the time being. He used his mouth and his hands to discover her, and it served to heighten her need further still.

Despite knowing it was inevitable, it was something of a shock to see his face between her legs. Besides the obvious, one good thing was that while thus engaged, he could not muse and think aloud. Silently she commended his genius as he applied what he’d learned earlier using his tongue rather than his fingers. As Ouro got close again, she stopped him, pulling away a little and very gently urging him back. He paused, though, and his lips brushed along where he could feel her pulse at the juncture of her thigh and hip. The red in his eyes brightened.

“Yes, that will be a marvelous spot to feed from. No, not right now.” She chuckled at him. “Come here.”

“But I haven’t completed my examination, I’ve still got thighs, knees, calves, and feet to go…” He ran his hands down her legs.

“Well, unless you intend for this to be the only time we are ever naked together, there will be other opportunities.”

“I had hoped that there would be a great many more times to come.” He crawled up, hips settling between her thighs. A glaringly immature giggle escaped her. “Pun originally not intended.” He amended. “Though now…entirely intended.”

Fenn kissed Ouro, slow and deep, but it quickly became evident that they’d both arrived at the point of no return. She reached for him, fingers sliding against his flesh, and somehow, he seemed even harder than before. A soft groan hummed from his throat, and it was an incredible sound.

“I’m ready whenever you are.” She told him, and he nodded.

“I am…but tell me if I’m hurting you, or to stop…it doesn’t matter how close I am.”

“I know. I’ll tell you.” She kissed him, and he moved to guide himself to her. Her body practically vibrated with desire, tingling with the tendrils of her own power as he pressed against her. But Fenn stopped suddenly. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t…before…” He was battling between what he needed to say and what his body wanted to do. “Always I made sure to…withdraw…before I…should I…?”

“What? No, of course not…” Then she understood. She’d never told him that particular piece of that particular story. It was astounding that it had even occurred to him. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. I took permanent measures. But…thank you.”

“Of course, I…hnnngg…” His reply dissolved into a shuddering sound as Ouro, her hands firmly on his backside, pulled him gently down. “Oh…I…”

“You won’t hurt me, Fenn.” She reassured him, and a tremble went through him before finally, he thrust his hips forward, entering fully in one stroke. She gasped, her arms tightening around him, reveling in the bliss. Gods…at long last, he lay buried in her flesh, where she’d wanted him for a good deal longer than she would ever admit. “Don’t stop.”

They kissed, and slowly Fennorian moved inside her. His eyes were closed, and his breath was shallow. It felt wonderful, a tight fit. He filled her completely, and when he pushed deeper, she bowed up. When he opened his eyes, it startled her, the tenderness of his gaze was intense, bordering on overwhelming, so Ouro pressed her face against him, unnerved in a way…exposed.

“I don’t want to go too fast…I don’t want it to be over too soon…” He murmured into her hair. The pace increased, though. Part of her longed for him to throw any and all restraint out the window.

“It’s okay if you can’t hold off…we’ll just have to do it again is all.” She grinned up at him but inhaled sharply as he suddenly drove relentlessly into her. Letting go of her thoughts, she matched him, flinging herself headlong off the edge, tumbling into the glorious chaos of simple unbridled lovemaking.

Save for the crackling fire, the only sounds were their breathing and the sound of flesh on flesh.

The pressure built again deep inside her, gasping, breathy sounds escaping her as they moved together. That wonderful coiling sensation, it wrapped itself tighter and tighter, but when Fenn moaned aloud, it shattered. Everything they’d said and done, it had compounded. Every word, every look, every touch, every close call…it all released as the pleasure gripped her, seeping into every inch of her being and every dark corner of her mind in a blinding flash of unadulterated joy.

“Oh, gods…” Fenn was straining; he’d slowed and then stopped as she lay beneath him, feeling as though she’d delightfully become jelly that had merged with the bed. But then she realized he still restrained himself. There were beads of sweat on his brow, which was incredible considering the effort needed to make a vampire sweat.

“Fenn…you haven’t…?” She was confused.

“Not yet.” He closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. “I was so close, I nearly lost control, the look on your face…and the sounds you made…” He winced.

“What are you waiting for? Is there something you want me to do?” Ouro couldn’t think of any reason he might be holding off.

“There’s something I want to give you.”

“Well, I think you just did.”

Fenn laughed suddenly, pressing his forehead to hers. “No, not just that. Hold onto me, I’m going to turn on my back.” As though effortless, with one arm scooped under Ouro, he rolled them both over, and as he settled, she sat up, rocking her hips.

“Ah, so you wanted to try it this way, you could have just said so.” She braced herself on Fenn’s chest, and he gripped her hips, staring up at her. Hooking her feet on the insides of his knees, she pulled his legs a little farther apart, watching his eyes roll back while she moved. His mouth was open, and she leaned back, riding him, her body rolling like a gentle wave. In ecstasy, he swore. And he _never_ swore. At least not in her presence until that moment.

“Wait…please.” He clenched his teeth, hands on her waist to hold her still, and Ouro complied, of course. Taking a couple deep breaths, Fenn sat up. His hair was a holy mess, and she liked seeing him like that. Slowly, his fingers trailed down her thighs then back up again. He cupped her breasts, and they fit nicely in his hands, she thought, but then he wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve accepted your blood twice now, and…offering it to me is…it is the deepest intimacy we are capable of, more so even than…being inside you like this. You’ve given me all of yourself, Ouro, and you’ve never asked anything of me.” He was trembling ever so slightly. “I have not lived for centuries, and I’ve got very little to show for the time I _have_ existed. I have only myself to give.”

“Yourself is all I want.” She kissed him lightly, brushing his hair from his eyes.

“Then, I offer you my blood.”

“I accept.” Her eyes lingered on his for a long moment. “I know that the last time you were bitten was…a nightmare…if you prefer…”

“No, here is fine.” He smiled and touched his neck. “The thought of it being you doesn’t frighten me in the slightest.”

Ouro kissed his lips and then his neck. Silently, she hoped he took as much pleasure from it as she had when he’d been the one feeding, and she hoped that what happened to him hadn’t taken away his ability to experience that joy. Every muscle in his body had tensed, and she could smell the hint of fear on him. Though he was still inside her, he was considerably softer than moments ago.

She ran her tongue along the artery and didn’t hold him in suspense any longer. Fenn gasped as she pierced his flesh, his arms almost crushing her. As his blood filled her mouth, she tried to gauge his pain. He groaned, and it was not in pain; the sound vibrated through her, and he was hard again. Relief swept over her, and she drank of him, moving her hips against him.

Suddenly, she was on her back, teeth still sunk into his neck.

“Don’t stop…” He panted. Ouro’s eyes burned red, and he moved fast and hard. His pulse raced; she could feel it as she drank. Pressing her hard into the bedding, he cried out and he shook as he finished, hips jerking. She released him from the bite, taking a gasping breath. Holding him, she stroked his hair, not entirely sure what his reaction to all of it would be.

“Are you alright?” She whispered.

“That was…I’ve never felt…” He pushed himself up and peered down at her, touching the blood around her mouth…his blood. “I just…” He shook his head and held her close, burying his face against her hair.

“I know.”


	19. Return

Perhaps there ought to have been some sort of discussion or…really any acknowledgement at all of the enormity of the events the night before. That would have been the wiser course of action. It didn’t matter how old Ouro was; she was as big an idiot as any person navigating _love_ for the first time and was well aware of that fact. For some reason, _that_ word was difficult for her to contend with. Many could use it so freely, but it stuck in her throat. Perhaps she just wanted to let it sink in a bit and allow herself to get accustomed to the fact that she had, for all intents and purposes, irrevocably and passionately bound herself to this young Altmer.

Overall, the night had certainly been well spent. Ouro couldn’t remember the last time that _she_ had felt spent. Fennorian, quick study that he was, and so very eager to please, had ensured her complete exhaustion. They’d dozed intermittently, long enough for his youthful vigor to recover. She hadn’t decided yet if the fact he’d been turned at the height of his physical drive was a good thing or a bad thing. No doubt she wouldn’t mind for quite some time yet; vampires’ attention spans were a great deal longer than mortals’.

Brazzelac plodded through the ankle-deep muck of the swamp outside Morthal. Fenn wanted Mjolen’s assistance with the elixir, as he found her expertise invaluable. It was for the best that she be involved in any case. She was much more familiar with some of the things to be used in their concoction than any of the rest of them were.

Fenn’s hands were a little restless, and Ouro could feel him trying to unobtrusively shift about behind her. She suspected some of his disquiet had to do with the absence of The Discussion. She was wary of it though; sometimes, she had a tendency to go on a bit too much when trying to be clear and concise with her conversation, but when Fennorian latched onto something, he would discuss it within an inch of its existence. No dark, emotional corner unsearched, no traumatic stone unturned. Ouro wasn’t quite ready for so thorough a dissection, especially not when the fog of sex still clouded any sense of reason.

“Something the matter?” She asked, and when he tried to settle himself, she could feel exactly what the matter was. Perhaps he wasn’t looking to talk after all. Which…was perfectly fine by her.

“No, of course not.” He cleared his throat, but she pressed back against him a little tighter, and his breath caught.

“Did you want to stop?” She asked, but quickly amended. “For a rest?” Ouro tried not to sound too entertained… _or_ too eager. The middle of a crisis was _not_ the best time for them to be reduced to single-minded carnal beasts.

“No. No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve merely got to regain myself…and my self-control. It seems to have…gotten away from me a bit.” His hands stilled, and he held her very gentlemanly around the waist. “Unless _you_ need to stop for some reason.” Ah, he just wasn’t going to say it. Why, though? Were they suffering the same angst? The desire to have at it as much and as often as possible? Gods, this was probably what adolescence was like. No wonder young people were so bloody stupid.

Taking one of his hands, she put it over her breast, and Fenn swallowed audibly, but happily took hold and leaned close, inhaling the scent of her hair.

Ouro nodded. “Mmhm, I thought as much.”

“We really should be responsible…there are important matters at…at…hand…” His distraction from responsible, important matters was growing, especially as she slid his other hand downward. She felt his lips against the side of her neck “Perhaps just a short rest. It’s been a long ride.”

They found a dry, grassy area, sheltered by trees where Brazzelac was content to graze and ignore them. Ouro leaned against a boulder beside the large, rocky outcropping, uncertain what their _short rest_ would consist of. Neither of them was dressed for it, and options were limited.

To her surprise, and without preamble, Fenn kissed her, leaning into her. All thought of logistics vanished. They’d figure it out. Gleefully, she partook in his embrace. Whatever dam that Fenn had settled himself behind for the last…however many years old he was, it had been overtaken, and it was apparent that it both unsettled and excited him. He wavered between tenderness and an urge to give in to the more savage parts of vampirism.

“No, no…wait.” He pulled back, hands braced against the rock as he took deep breaths, eyes closed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me…”

“I think perhaps it has more to do with what you’ve gotten into.” She observed, unhelpfully. Opening his eyes, he arched a wry brow.

“Same difference.” He let out a sigh. “It’s only that…you haven’t… _said_ anything. About last night.”

“Well, that’s not true.”

“As much as I enjoy hearing my praises sung, Ouro, that’s not what I mean.”

“I know.” She looked down, reaching for serious words, as opposed to her usual deflections laden with sarcasm and malformed humor.

“Sometimes, your thoughts are right on your face, which simplifies things quite a lot, but in this case, I don’t know what you’re thinking…or feeling…” Fenn touched her chin lightly so that she’d look up.

“I know that, too.” What the fuck was she supposed to say? Well, she knew what, but she was a bit of a coward just then. There wasn’t anything else, though, that didn’t sound like cloying drivel that some ridiculous bard or minstrel would use to assault the ears of innocent bystanders. “I don’t think anything I could say would do it justice…”

“You haven’t really tried, though, have you?” He could be unhelpful, too, and Ouro shot him a dirty look. He took a wise step backward, one corner of his mouth twitching up.

“What do you want me to tell you?” She ran her fingers back through her hair as some sort of anxious frustration bubbled up. Or…anticipation. “That I am _oh_ so _very_ old but have managed not to ever feel this way before? That having given you my blood and taken yours is the single most intense, terrifying, and important thing I’ve ever done?” In all fairness, she had to admit inwardly that those _were_ crucial things that needed to be said.

Fenn straightened up a little, opening his mouth to reply, but the gates were open, latches broken, and she went on.

“…or shall I remind you that you know things about me I’ve never told anyone? That I’ve never been touched how you…touch? Or held? Or kissed…the way you do. I’ve never made love like we did or shared my blood with anyone else.” It poured out of her, and she didn’t know where it would stop. Gods, she hoped it stopped soon. “I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even want it; I always thought it was foolhardy to tie oneself to someone else. The risk was too big, potential loss too great, yet here I am, _with_ you. Close to you, caring for you, knowing you…” _Argh, do it, you damned coward_. “…loving…you.”

There. She’d said it.

She had _said_ the thing. With her mouth. Using words.

She’d told him the thing she knew he wanted to hear. Though, it was also the thing she’d been needing to say. Ouro had _wanted_ to say it.

Fenn nodded, though, stroking his chin as if he was studying some new formula. “That about sums it up, I think.” He cleared his throat, almost surprised. Perhaps he’d expected she _wouldn’t_ say it. Ouro just stared at him. Gods, what a mess.

“Satisfied? Is that sufficient discussion for the time being?” She folded her arms, trying to regain any sort of mental footing.

“Yes, thank you. I appreciate that you’ve told me.” He paused, eyeing her. “I’d have waited until we got back to _Solitude_ …but I think I can say with some certainty that behind a closed door with any sort of remotely horizontal surface, you simply can’t be trusted.”

“ _I_ can’t be trusted? Ha! So that _wasn’t_ you poking me in the ass for the last two hours?” Ouro knew he wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t _just_ her.

He mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear before conceding. “Alright, _we_ cannot be trusted. Despite the fact I once considered myself the epitome of self-control.”

“Mmhm.”

“It could also be that, well…I needed to hear you say those things. This isn’t a matter where making inferences is safe or wise. And when it comes to subjective matters of…importance where…” A word somehow eluded him, and Fenn merely gestured vaguely at his chest.

“Feelings?” Ouro suggested.

“Yes, thank you. Ahem. Where _feelings_ are concerned…you’re not particularly forthcoming.” Fenn tugged at one of his sleeves a little, fidgeting. He struggled just as much as she did, and he knew it.

“I don’t see you waving banners with your innermost thoughts on them, _either_ , Fennorian.”

“Yes, well.” He straightened up a little more. “Though it may not seem so from your point of view, I assure you that I’ve been making _great_ efforts in that regard. I don’t need to tell you how difficult that can be.”

“Yes, I know. Though…” Ouro gave him a sidelong look, a small smile creeping across her face. “I’d have thought someone so pursuant of knowledge and science wouldn’t be so damned sentimental.”

“We all have our flaws.” He smirked at her.

“Indeed.” She grinned, but he came forward and leaned down, pressing his lips gently to hers. It was so deeply unfortunate that Solitude was as far away as it was. Chances were that by the time they did return, the others would very soon follow, and they’d have no time to themselves. Fenn, clearly, was still interested in _‘the rest’_ she’d originally thought they’d be taking. Though it pained her to do so, she pulled back a little, halting the fingers that had begun industriously unfastening buckles on her jacket.

“Well, loathe as I am to pass up the opportunity to see your eyes roll back into your head while I perform unspeakable and fantastic acts upon you…I think perhaps in a swamp against a rock probably isn’t the best spot, hm?” Ouro repressed the urge to groan at her own prudent decision-making.

“Ah, so you _are_ a responsible person, after all.” Fenn gave a snort.

“It brings me no joy to be so.” She sighed. “Besides, it’s going to be a much better time somewhere soft and warm.” Her arms slid around him, and as he bent to kiss her again, they were interrupted by an impatient throat-clearing. Looking over at once, they found Mjolen, her arms folded, amusement dancing across the deep creases of her ancient face.

“Vampires coupling! Always makes such a ruckus.” She scoffed.

“We were _not_ making a ruckus.” Ouro shot back. “And we’re fully clothed. No _coupling_.”

“Since when does being clothed matter?” The old woman all but cackled.

“Well…I, for one, am certainly inaccessible in these leathers.” Ouro frowned.

“Then perhaps you need a different tailor!” Mjolen shook her head, chuckling at the stunned expressions they both wore, then shuffled off in the direction of her cabin. Brazzelac, seeing the purveyor of his most favorite treats in all of Tamriel, followed her without a backward glance.

Mjolen readily agreed to lend her assistance to putting the elixir together. Having her along also facilitated the focus of Ouro and Fennorian, and they were able to return to the Blue Palace without further delay. The whole of Skyrim’s population took precedence, after all, over their private matters.

Ouro left Fenn with Mjolen at the palace as the others returned. Uncomfortable with standing around and being of no use, she left them to their own devices to wander about the castle. The guards still behaved as though she wasn’t there, which was _still_ odd, but considering she had no desire to be bothered, it wasn’t something she put much thought toward.

Anything she could open or access, Ouro rifled through in the hopes of coming across something interesting. Some might have called it nosiness, but she called it the proactive pursuit of potentially useful knowledge. Fenn at least would agree. His life’s work was getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be and going through belongings that weren’t his.

So far, the inhabitants of this castle were proving to be shockingly uninteresting. By the time she’d wandered back to the main hall, she’d met Fenn and the Trio of Trouble as they descended the staircase. There was an air of eager anticipation about them, which meant some sort of progress had been made.

“We’re going back to Blackreach,” Fenn announced. His anticipation, in particular, was laced with horrific memories, but at least he wouldn’t be going alone. “We’ve got the elixir, and now we need to test it.”

“Test it?” Ouro had a bad feeling.

“Yes, to see if it will indeed protect the imbiber from the effects of a Harrowstorm.” He was the only person she’d ever seen so simultaneously eager and afraid to stroll right into the lion’s den.

“So…that would mean you need a willing imbiber…to test it on…” Ouro looked doubtfully at the other three.

“I’m going to do it,” Lyris told her. “Don’t worry, no one expects Fenn to take that on. He’s done enough already.”

“How very gallant of you.” The whole idea still smacked of impulse and desperation. But what else could be done?

“We can’t really afford the time it takes to stand here discussing it!” The princess was getting impatient, and so Ouro gestured to the entry.

“Onward, then.” She would need to be on guard at all times down there.

As they made their way into the courtyard, the hair on the back of Ouro’s neck stood up, and she hissed. Though unseen, she felt the presence of a great many people. The other four looked surprised and shocked further when Ouro stood at the ready with a blade in her hand, teeth bared. They were surrounded and had no idea.

She knew what to do, and she knew where each and every one of them was; she’d _taught_ them this trick. Ouro whirled, her blade stopping a hair’s breadth away from Soren’s throat. He, along with the rest of the Riders, materialized as though the breeze had blown away their cover like smoke. She heard Lyris take hold of her axe, the leather on its handle creaking slightly, and Savien was at the ready.

“I should kill you where you stand.” Ouro snarled at her former Second. His hands were up; none of the Riders held their weapons or had moved so much as an inch. Soren’s eyes were on hers as he slowly knelt.

“Will you hear me out on my knees?” He asked. His face was grave, and she didn’t take the blade away.

“Why should I? You wouldn’t speak before when I needed you to.” Ouro was shaking. She’d been so focused on the pain of giving up the Riders that she’d nearly forgotten her rage.

“That is something I will regret until the end of my days.”

She _knew_ him better than she’d known anyone else, and he meant what he said…but it didn’t quell her anger. It didn’t undo his betrayal.

“You just say the word, Ouro…” Lyris was always itching for a fight, and Ouro shook her head.

“Don’t be stupid, they will tear you to pieces before you could swing your axe.” Ouro glanced briefly back before looking at Soren again. She had personally trained every single Rider in that courtyard, and she had trained them well. A hundred Riders did the work of ten thousand soldiers. Even the mighty Lyris Titanborn was no match for their full force.

“We aren’t here to fight.” Soren let out a long breath, his gaze falling behind her to her companions. “Is that him?”

“He is _none_ of your business, Soren.” Ouro’s eyes were burning red, and the fury in her voice surprised even the kneeling Altmer.

“He means enough to you that you left us, that is our business.” His chest rose and fell, and he spoke loudly _to_ Fennorian. “We wronged you, friend, and our First Rider by turning our backs on her when she needed us most. We broke the oaths we took to never let our own fight alone.” He looked up at Ouro again. “We are here, at your mercy, as an act of contrition.”

“Too little, too late.” She shook her head and let her blade dissipate. “There is _nothing_ Tesgrim could say or do to make amends, that would _ever_ garner forgiveness. I would sooner dance merrily into fire.”

“He is gone, Ouro.” The words may as well have been in some language she’d never heard before; they made so little sense.

“Gone?” She stared. “What do you mean, _gone_? Is he dead?” Dare she hope? It would be good news even if his demise had not been at her hand.

“We’re not that lucky.” Soren scoffed. “In the aftermath of your departure, he could see the outrage amongst us. The only thing that had ever stood between him and us was you…and well, you were gone. His days were numbered.”

“Get up.” Ouro gave him a shove and stepped back, trying to make sense of what he’d told her. “He left, then? Where did he go?”

“One day, he was just…gone. No one knows where. He killed the women he’d been keeping to fu…to feed on and vanished.” Soren glanced at the other Riders who seemed to visibly relax.

“Then you’re as free of him now as I am. I’ve heard your regrets; I don’t need anything else from any of you.” She also didn’t feel like airing this bit of dirty laundry with more than a hundred onlookers.

“I know that you don’t need us, Ouro, but we need you. We’ve come back here for you.”


	20. Unfinished Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for so much delay! The wait till the next chapter will NOT be as long.  
> Getting ready, of course, for the Markarth DLC to come out, and all the juicy story stuff that comes with it! ;)  
> Though I don't anticipate the upcoming chapters to contain anything pertaining to the DLC storyline before its release in November, rest assured that if anything DOES, spoiler warnings will be plentiful.
> 
> As always, thank you all!! :)

Time was of the essence, and Ouro was not a pivotal part of the plan to test Fennorian’s harrowstorm elixir. They could not afford any time to wait, and she couldn’t avoid dealing with the Riders. Though reluctant to do so, she put her trust in Lyris and Savien to do what needed to be done and keep Fenn safe. They cared enough for him to fight for him if it came to that.

“Ouro?”

“What?” She looked up at Soren.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“No.” Quickly, she closed the books Fenn had left open on the table, making sure to mark the pages in case they were important. The rest of the riders had disbursed, and she’d agreed to let Soren talk. So, here they were, in her house. He was talking, but her mind was distracted, clouded with concern and a steady stream of all the ways things could go horribly wrong for Fenn and the others down in that pit.

Soren had never visited any of Ouro’s places of residence despite their long history. She’d always kept what precious little of her life that was outside of the Riders extremely private.

“I’ve never seen you like this.” Soren shook his head.

“Like what?”

“Worrying over someone, and a _boy_ , at that.”

“The last time I left him in Blackreach, he was captured and tortured.” She tried to ignore how amused he looked and chose to deliver what might have been a slightly low blow. “He was nearly killed. You’ll recall my impassioned plea for assistance in rescuing him, I’m sure. Since you stood there in silence, allowing me to be thrown to the wolves.” Soren did indeed look decidedly less amused.

“I’ve already voiced my regret for what happened that day.” He let out a long breath, smoothing back his dark blond hair, tucking a strand behind one ear. Warrior or not, he’d always been a bit of a fop. “Did your… _friend_ …have three stubborn, violence-prone individuals with him at that time?”

“No.”

“Then, he’ll be fine.”

“Don’t underestimate the Gray Host, Soren. They wanted him for something before, they could take him again.”

“Gods, Ouro, are you his lover or his mother?”

“Fuck you.” She spat, glaring at him as he suddenly grinned in her face.

“What was it you said to me?” Soren stroked his chin in mock concentration. “ _He’s practically a child_ …those were your words.”

“And he’s more than adequately proven himself a man.” She folded her arms, feeling a bit satisfied with the uncomfortable, disconcerted look that flashed across his face. “So, if you’ve gotten that out of your system, what is it you so badly need to discuss with me?”

He cleared his throat. “You and I both know it isn’t over with Tesgrim, not until his ashes are scattered to the wind.”

“If he’s got a quarrel, I’m sure it’s with me. The Riders are free to scatter as they please. Or not.” Ouro shrugged. “Managing all of you isn’t my problem anymore.”

“It’s not that easy for the rest of us to just step away.”

“You think it was _easy_ for me, Soren? I gave _six_ centuries of my life to the Riders. I know I don’t have to tell you that I’ve known little else. And here I am, away from it and surviving.” She really didn’t want to be having this discussion. In truth, she hadn’t put much thought toward what would happen if it ever came down to facing those who had once been under her command.

“Yes, I am aware of all that. My point is that there is unfinished business for all of us. None of us is safe with Tesgrim out and about doing gods know what. His behavior had become increasingly suspicious. The more you distanced yourself, the more erratic he became. There was something going on, and while he perpetuated the illusion that I was in the loop as his damned lapdog, I wasn’t. It was all a ploy to keep the rest of the Riders in line. I complied, thinking that once you and he had cleared up whatever was going on, everything would be fine.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“So, it would seem.” He started looking at the books and papers on the table, all but rolling his eyes and making judgemental faces as he scanned the pages of handwritten notes. Despite feeling oddly protective over Fennorian's notes and the books he'd selected for his research, she refrained from snatching them from the mocking Altmer's hands. He fancied himself a high and mighty high elf, despite his vampirism, and so was prone to periodic childish behavior. Though, whether that was the Altmer in him, or the fact he was male...she was unsure.

Ouro watched Soren for a long moment, focusing once more on the matter at hand. In the last few decades, the divide between their leader and everyone else had been growing ever wider. The farther she kept herself from Tesgrim’s reach, the less stable things became. Throughout the ranks, she’d never experienced problems with loyalty or insubordination…to her. But there had always been discontent grumblings about Tesgrim. He’d made himself a mystery for as long as she could remember, though, and since there’d always been some sort of speculation going on about him, she’d largely ignored it.

“The Riders were pawns of some sort, then.” She aimlessly straightened the disrupted books as she wracked her brain.

“But for what?”

“I don’t know.” Ouro feared it was connected to the mad quest to turn vampires into a people that could procreate by more conventional means. Until she had some hard evidence, though, it wasn’t a theory she wanted to broach just yet. Soren was no fool, he knew there was something about her that set her apart from the rest of them, but he’d never asked. This would certainly be cause for him to ask.

“I want you to come back to the Enclave and look at his belongings with me. Most everything was left behind…”

“Left behind? That makes no sense…” Ouro frowned. “Everything is a game with him, a ploy. You cannot trust that things, as they appear, aren't designed to lead you to some specific conclusion. You know I am not easily swindled, and even _I_ was manipulated for centuries. If we find anything, it’s because he meant us to.”

“How, then, do we find any truth?”

“He thinks he’s more clever than anyone and has habitually underestimated those around him for as long as I can remember. It never came back to bite him since I foolishly kept everyone in line.” An idea began to form, and she nodded. “So…he must believe he has won and be content and unalarmed.”

“His hubris will be his downfall.”

“It has to be, I’m not sure there is any other way.”

* * *

.

* * *

Lyris was astoundingly compliant as Fennorian tended to the injuries she’d sustained from Rada al-Saran’s blast. Such extended silence from her could only mean a handful of things. She was dead, asleep, knocked unconscious, or…no, those were the only reasons he could think of. When he glanced up to check for signs of life, he found her watching him with a disconcerting amount of concentration. It was unusual not to be met with a derisive glare and some sort of mockery or jest, which for her were often one and the same. Warm and fuzzy didn’t come to mind where Lyris Titanborn was concerned. She’d stopped calling him _leech_ , at least. To be fair, she hadn’t been rude or extra unpleasant since their first run-in—only the usual amount of unpleasant.

“You look worried.” She finally spoke, pointing out the blatantly obvious. He refrained from making a biting remark, not much in the mood for banter, good-natured or otherwise. He didn’t want to be insulting because of his own internal malcontent. It _was_ rather rude to take such things out on others, after all.

“Well, we’ve barely avoided being consumed by giant, insectoid beasts, then traipsed through a cave full of violent Draugr, were attacked by the leader of the Gray Host _and_ one of his most trusted advisors…narrowly escaping with our lives while the _princess_ recklessly drank the elixir without knowing if it would work…” Surely all that was reason enough for anyone to be worried. Wasn’t it?

“ _You_ said you were _confident_ in your work.” Lyris gave him a level look.

“I am, but who in their right mind _willingly_ tests anything on a princess?” He let out a long breath.

“Alright, that’s a good point…but, I don’t think all that is what’s bothering you.” She was more perceptive than he’d expected. “Is it because those Blood Riders showed up at the palace trying to get your lady back?”

“My lady.” He gave a snort but realized that Lyris was actually showing concern. Perhaps he ought to give her more credit. He cleared his throat. “Yes…she…ah…”

“Sav told me.” She clapped a large hand on Fennorian’s shoulder, jostling his entire body.

“Told you…what?” He looked down at his shoulder, gently leaning away.

“That she chose you over them.”

“Ah…yes. It isn’t _quite_ so black and white, but that is the gist of it.” He gave a nod, uncertain that any sort of heart-to-heart discussion with the half-giant was something he was comfortable with. In his mind, he rather liked the idea that Ouro cared so much for him that she gave up the Riders. But had she not been forced to, it seemed unlikely she would have. He tried to steer clear of such fanciful ideas.

These kinds of ridiculous and horrible thoughts had been eating at him non-stop since the unwelcome appearance of the Riders. He’d never entertained any notions of this sort before in his life. He’d also never been in love with anyone before in his life. It was beginning to make sense why smitten young lovers were so unimaginably dumb. This wasn’t some bout of adolescent infatuation, though. They’d shared blood, and such an act between two vampires created a bond that surpassed and eclipsed anything that mortals were capable of feeling or understanding. At least he was fairly certain that his mortal mind could not have comprehended it before…immortality.

“You’re concerned that she’ll go back to them, aren’t you?” Wincing, Lyris got to her feet, leaning on her axe, then yanked Fennorian up like a ragdoll.

“Six centuries of history doesn’t simply go away.” He muttered, checking for whiplash before brushing his hands off. The inescapable rumination had been weighing on him for all of the days that it had taken to get from the Blue Palace to this godsforsaken hole in the ground. He couldn’t even be sure that Ouro would be there when he returned to Solitude. Not physically, but…there with _him_. Logic dictated that after what had gone on between them, it was unlikely she would simply return to the Riders. She’d reconciled with the difficult truth of no longer being part of them, and despite the pain, she had seemed enthusiastic about the prospect of a life with him. Or so he thought. It hadn’t explicitly been discussed. Though, it was challenging to have a conversation about such plans when their lives and countless others were hanging in the balance. Why make plans when none of them might live through this?

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think she would give you up, Fenn.”

“I…thank you…Lyris.” Fennorian was tempted to question her about the events and evidence that led her to that particular conclusion. He fidgeted with his satchel instead; this conversation didn’t need to go on further than it had already. “It’s going to be a long trek back; we should get started sooner rather than later, I think.”

“Agreed. Don’t worry, I won’t hold us back. Might be a few minutes, but I’ll walk it off.” Lyris gave a confident nod, and Fennorian stared up at her for a moment. Whether or not he believed any such attack could be “walked off” was irrelevant, and if anyone _was_ going to walk it off, it was Lyris.

* * *

.

* * *

Despite its familiarity, it had been unexpectedly uncomfortable at the Blood Rider Enclave, and stranger still to spend days rifling through Tesgrim’s belongings. The evidence of his depravity was no surprise, of course, Ouro had known that all along. She experienced it firsthand, enduring it and miraculously had come out the other side of it with remarkably few issues where intimate relations were concerned.

She returned to Solitude with several crates of books, journals, papers, and other various items that she still needed to go through with a fine-toothed comb. They were unloaded on the ground floor through the street door before she trudged upstairs. It was late enough that the entire city seemed to be asleep, and Ouro was exhausted. Proper sleep had felt impossible at the Enclave, where the essence of Tesgrim seemed to have seeped into the very stone of the place. Though also, she’d grown rather fond of not sleeping alone, and it was much less pleasant to lie in an empty bed.

Reaching the library, Ouro found her chosen bedfellow seated at the table amongst stacks of books with his back to the stairs. Pages of notes were scattered about as he leaned over whatever he was writing, his head in his hand, fingers tangled in his hair. Making a frustrated sound, he tossed down the quill and sat back.

“Was the elixir unsuccessful?” She asked, realizing too late that she should have made some sort of noise to announce her presence. Fenn jumped, hitting his knees on the bottom of the table. His breath hissed through his teeth as he looked back at her over his shoulder. “Sorry…didn’t mean to startle you…”

“The elixir worked.” He turned back to the table, though. No hello, no smile…if he was intently working on something though, his head would be wrapped up in that.

“Oh…good.” Between his trip to Blackreach and her endeavors at the Enclave, they hadn’t seen one another or communicated in over two weeks. Ouro had missed him more than she’d even realized until seeing him. She’d hoped for a warmer greeting, and his cold demeanor was worrying. “Has something happened?” She couldn’t think what else would have gotten him so worked up, though.

“Besides the king refusing to see us? No.” Fennorian’s shoulders hunched sullenly.

“That’s not _much_ of a surprise, prick that he is.”

“We’re supposed to have an audience the day after tomorrow.”

“Ah…I would have thought keeping his realm safe was more important, but…well…Svargrim.” Ouro grew further agitated as Fenn still didn’t look at her. It wasn’t in her nature to be fearful of saying anything, and meekness did not suit her. “Okay, what in Oblivion is the problem?” He looked back at her again, then sighed and shook his head, standing up.

“I…I half expected you to come back wearing red again.”

“Why?” She blinked. “I burned my leathers, I thought my choice was quite clear.”

“It was clear that you wanted nothing more to do with them when Tesgrim still sat at the head of the organization…given everything that happened. Your _friend_ all but begged you to come back and lead them in his stead.” Under most circumstances, Fennorian could sufficiently hide his more unpleasant feelings. Tonight was not one of those occasions.

“He did beg me.” Ouro shrugged one shoulder. “And yes, it would be only too easy to resume my place and take the reins as I have for so long, but…”

“How was I to know?”

“I…” She'd given no reassurances before her departure with Soren that there was no intention of rejoining the Riders. She and Fenn had only a very brief goodbye, exchanging not so much as a kiss. It was no wonder he’d felt uncertain; she should have had more forethought than that. The sudden appearance of Soren and the others had been overwhelming and disorienting. But she wasn’t an idiot; it _should_ have occurred to her to tell him her intentions. He’d spent the last fortnight in limbo, and she felt terrible for it. “I’m sorry…I was thoughtless…”

“You were blindsided by them.” Who but Fennorian could be angry and hurt and then make the excuses for her that she wouldn’t even make for herself?

“That doesn’t matter, you’re right…I should have been clear, I should have said something.” Ouro looked down, a pained expression on her face. “I was gone for two weeks; that was wrong…”

“Well, you’re here now.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I can’t imagine it was too enjoyable digging through things at the Enclave. Did you find anything that will help you find Tesgrim?” Fenn let his hands rest on her shoulders.

“Yes and no. I still have a lot of things to dig through. It won’t be easy to track him down, and it will be even harder to actually put an end to him. He’s very old, and very powerful.” She sighed, not feeling up to going into detail.

“Well, I offer any and all of my skills to assist, if you think there’s anything I can help with.” He gave a small smile and she nodded. For as upset as he seemed about her lack of assurances upon departure, he’d dropped it rather quickly. Whatever the case, it could be dealt with tomorrow and Ouro stepped close to him, debating whether she was too tired to make it up to him or not. Probably not considering how even now she was feeling a bit more energized.

“We should probably go to bed, it’s very late…”

“Well…” Fennorian looked suddenly uncomfortable. “In the interest of honesty, there’s something I must tell you.” She bristled at once.

“What?”

“Melina was here.” Anxiousness crept onto his face.

“What?” Ouro repeated. “Why did Brynn not send her away?” Oops…she hadn’t told him about _that_. Too late now, he was already frowning.

“Why would Brynn have sent her away?”

“Because I told her to.” Every muscle in Ouro's body seemed to clench. “Why was she here?”

“To speak with me.” Fenn shrugged as though that should have been obvious. Ouro couldn’t demand to know what they’d discussed, however. Though, it had begun eating at her at once. “But…”

“But…what?” Her bad feeling got worse and was not helped by his obviously increasing agitation, and she took a step back.

“Well, it was…she…she stayed the night.”

“ _What?_ ” Ouro’s outer extremities went numb, and it felt, somehow, like the floor had dropped out from under her feet.

This really was _not_ her night.


	21. Exhausted

Ouro stared at Fennorian, whose face was etched with guilt. Her propensity to leap headfirst to the worst-case scenario was held back by threads as her reason tried to claw its way through. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually felt physically ill, but she swallowed, willing away the bile that rose in the back of her throat.

“How could…were you _that_ angry…I… _how_ could you…” She spluttered, but then took a breath. There had to be more explanation before she demanded to know what in the ever-living fuck he’d been thinking. “ _What_ …do you mean?” She used to be _so_ rational.

“I realize she’s not your favorite person, but she _is_ my sister. Melina is as much a part of the Ravenwatch as I am. I couldn’t just throw her out into the street.” He sighed, but his eyes were on hers; he wasn’t shrinking away from her. “I knew you’d be…less than pleased, but…you’re shaking. Do you _hate_ her that much?”

“Hate her? Fennorian, you just said she _spent the_ _night_ _with you_.” She wanted to shake him, feeling bewildered and disoriented. In so many ways, war was more tranquil than the barrage of feelings and confusion that had become the new normal.

“ _With_ me…?” He didn’t seem to understand. For someone so brilliant, it was difficult to believe that he’d be _this_ obtuse.

“I _don’t_ have a guest room…where…did you…in _my_ bed…?” She would set the whole fucking room on _fire_.

“You think…” He stood up straight, gaping at her, horrified, but wounded. She may as well have slapped him. “How could you think…I…there is a _couch_ downstairs…” Fenn shook his head.

“Then, you didn’t…”

“Didn’t what? _Sleep_ with her?” The disgust that suddenly flashed across his features was _very_ satisfying to see. With the cloud of initial shock having dissipated, it was obvious how silly it was to fear that from him. Until she’d said the words, it hadn’t even occurred to him that she might be afraid that he’d bedded the girl. This was _Fennorian_ …he who had for so many nights slept beside her, mere inches away, sometimes less…and had never reached for her or touched her for the simple fact that she hadn’t explicitly given him permission to.

“Oh, gods.” She groaned into hands, shoulders slumping. “I’m an idiot.”

“Ouro.” He whispered.

“These last weeks…and the weeks that came before…everything’s been…” Ouro inhaled his scent. “I feel like I’ve gone mad.”

“I know.” Tentatively, he put his arms around her. When she leaned against him, Fenn pulled her close, and she buried her face against his chest, holding him. “We’ve waded into this together amidst a whole slew of open wounds and chaos. I have no expectation that anything is going to be _easy_.”

“Do you wish it was?” The tension had left her, and with its departure, she could feel how tired she was.

Fenn chuckled. “ _No_.”

“That’s a relief. I only know how to make things interesting, not easy.” She smiled, feeling unexpectedly warm. Being pressed against him, it didn’t seem difficult to overlook exhaustion for a little while yet.

“I realized that _quite_ early on.”

“I just wish all the Gray Host bullshit was over.” Without vampires and Reach witches trying to murder or lobotomize thousands of people, Ouro would have nothing but free time. Such a thing felt like an entirely foreign concept to her.

“Well…until the day after tomorrow it is. Savien and Lyris know where to find us if they need anything or if anything comes up. Until then…there’s nothing we need to be doing.” His long fingers slid through her hair, and it felt wonderful, but she didn’t miss the slight arch of one brow. He was baiting her, but it was for a good cause.

“Nothing?” Despite her best effort, trying to sound innocent was futile, and he smirked, having succeeded.

“I _haven’t_ been sleeping very well in your absence, which I’m sure is no surprise. So, getting a restful night’s…ouch!” He laughed, though, as she gave his backside a sharp pinch. “Very well, I suppose we’ve got time for other recreational diversions.”

“I swear to all the gods, Fennorian, if you suggest reading books…” Ouro inhaled sharply as Fenn took a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back a little. It was fascinating, the way his eyes changed when they touched this way. Everything about them both changed in an instant, as though remembering suddenly that they’d moved well beyond the threshold of togetherness.

“I never thought I’d hear myself say the words, but…I don’t want to read.” How different he was, having unfurled from the tightly wound young scholar to the person who existed beneath all that.

“I missed you, you know.” She told him quietly, her eyes settled on his lips. “That isn’t a feeling I’ve felt very often.”

“Nor I.” As he bent, she rose up on her toes to meet him in the middle, and the feel of his lips against hers washed away whatever vestiges of worry that still clung to her. His shyness and hesitation were long gone, and Ouro was delighted that he’d grown this comfortable, especially as his grip on her hair tightened as his tongue slid past her lips. Novice he may be, but still, he could sear her with just a kiss.

Letting go of everything was so easy with him; throwing aside every other care and important matter took no effort until she backed into the table as he leaned against her. She managed to pull back enough to speak, at least.

“While I am not, in general, opposed to the idea of you tossing me down on any horizontal surface, I would prefer we didn’t damage any of this valuable and _old_ literature, hm?” She was clutching his shirt in her fists, and he gave a soft groan, smiling.

“Gods…and you even care about books…” He kissed her hard, all but invading her mouth with his until she gave his lower lip a little bite, causing him to jerk back.

“The bedchamber is _up_ stairs, Fennorian. I may look young, but I’m old enough to prefer a mattress when given the choice.” Disentangling herself from his clutches, she sidled away toward the stairs.

“Right…right, yes, of course.” He cleared his throat a little, following.

By the time Ouro reached the chamber door, she’d unfastened the leather jack and threw down her belt as she stepped into the room. Fenn, with his newfound inability to resist temptation, pushed the coat off her shoulders and down her arms, where it landed heavily on the floor.

“Impatient.” She murmured, taking him by the wrists and gently pushing him backward to sit down on the bed. “ _Control_ yourself.” She wanted to watch him hunger for it, to writhe and pant and tremble with need, as he’d so artfully made her the night they’d spent together. _That_ was nearly three weeks ago, and she could scarcely believe she hadn’t combusted into flame in the time since.

Ouro bent, slowly unlacing her boots, fully aware that he was watching her. They had plenty of time and privacy, so she could stretch it out as long as she wanted. Boots off, she turned to Fenn where he sat, his mouth slightly open, staring as she untucked the shirt and pulled it over her head. She took off the chest wrap, leaving it with the shirt, then unlaced her trousers, sliding them down her hips.

“Tonight, if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to reciprocate the attentions you generously paid me last time.” She came forward, hips swaying a little. The slightly glazed-over look in his eyes as they traveled over her naked body suggested that the head on his shoulders wasn’t entirely at the helm. He nodded.

“Ah…yes. Ahem. Of course, fair is fair.” He swallowed audibly, and she motioned vaguely at his chest.

“Take off your…” She’d barely gotten the words out before he yanked the fabric over his head and threw it aside. “…shirt.” Gods, he was beautiful…those long, lean lines of his body and marble white skin. Part of her wanted to stand there and just look at him for a while, but that would be more torturous than she intended. His hands went to the waistband of his breeches, but she shook her head. “No, leave those on for now.” He almost looked disappointed.

“Where do you want me?”

“That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.” Ouro grinned, and he shrugged one shoulder, giving her an impish look. “Everywhere…but for now, stay where you are.” Without a word, he nodded again. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, mouth hovering close to his, and his hands began roaming her skin at once, but she gently took his wrists once more, lifting them away. “Not yet.”

“No touching?” Fenn breathed, simultaneously disappointed and curious. Sometimes she forgot just what a big mystery all this was to him still.

“Not yet.” He glanced over one shoulder at the bed, a line between his brows, but she turned his chin back to look at her. “Just think of it as an exercise in self-control.”

“Not an easy one.” His heart was pounding almost hard enough to hear.

“I hope you don’t expect me to make it easier.” Ouro kissed him, combing her fingers through his hair as he gripped the blanket in his fists. She could taste a hint of blood wine on his lips and tongue. Encouraged by his shuddering exhale, she pressed her hips against him, lips moving along his jaw. “I was thinking about something the other day…from when we were in Blackreach in that little cabin.” Her pace was slow, bordering on agonizing. “When you ripped my shirt…”

“Gods…those were dark days…” Fenn panted.

“Quite literally.” Taking his earlobe gently between her teeth, she sucked and was rewarded with his low, tormented groan.

“Aside from the lack of sunlight and the dire circumstances that had resulted in us being there in the first place…every night that you slept beside me was…for lack of a better term…torture.” Having reached his limits for keeping his hands off, Fenn wrapped his arms around her. “I feared you would roll too close and discover precisely how much I wanted you.”

“Is that so?” Ouro tugged a little at his ear and moved on, kissing his neck.

“I woke one morning with your backside pressed against me and I…I…” His words ceased as her hand slipped between them, sliding against him, only the thin fabric of his trousers separating his flesh from her fingers.

“My _ample_ backside?”

“Very ample.” He breathed, taking hold of the anatomy in question. “You more than fill my hands…and I’ve got large hands.” He squeezed, pulling her tighter against him.

“Is that a problem?”

“Gods, no…I love your expansive bottom.”

Ouro made an indignant noise. “Expansive?!” She bit him, but not hard enough to draw blood.

Fenn laughed, though. “Why are you offended? I said that I love it!” His amusement intensified as she tried to squirm away, but he held on tight. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have spent nearly as much time abusing myself as I have since meeting you.” She stilled, then, feeling a little smug.

“I _did_ wonder if all that time you were suffering in silence, trying to will away your urges with that iron-clad self-control of yours, or if you did what you could to alleviate all that pressure.” Ouro pulled back a little and looked into his eyes.

“I certainly did after that particular morning. You were still asleep, so I went downstairs and did my very best to find some relief…to no avail.”

“No avail? Did it not work, or it simply didn’t help?” Her interest was piqued,

“It didn’t matter how many times, it never helped.”

“ _Really_?” The image came readily to mind, Fenn in his shirt and breeches, leaning one hand on the cabinet down in the cabin, the other pumping furiously, chasing pleasure he hoped would ease the unbearable need. It was a titillating thought. His cock twitched under her hand, where she was still slowly stroking him. “I think you are close right now.”

“I can say with certainty, due to the length of time since we were last together and the fact that you are, at this moment, _naked_ in my lap, that, unfortunately, it will not take me very long.” His gaze fell to her mouth, and he leaned in to kiss her, but she kept just out of reach. He nearly growled as she denied him and made a mental note to discuss such playfulness and all its possibilities at a later date.

“We’ll just have to get the quick one out of the way then. So that we can take our time afterward.” A devious grin spread across her face. “Lie back on the pillows.” Careful not to let her slide off of him, Fenn shifted and did as he was told, fingers trailing lightly over her skin, up her hips and sides, cupping her breasts. They were ample, too, though unlike her ass, her breasts did not overflow his grip. “Is there anything you _don’t_ want me to do?”

“No.” He shook his head. “All I ask is that you warn me if you’re going to bite me.”

“Alright.” She gave a nod. “I _am_ going to use my mouth, but not for biting.” A tremor of delight coursed through her as his jaw fell open, but he said nothing, merely watching as Ouro moved and untied the string at his waist. She pulled the breeches down, then took them off altogether, tossing them aside. She watched him, taking careful note of his reactions, lightly pressing a kiss against his hip bone. He was trembling in blatantly excited anticipation as her lips brushed across his belly, her breath on his skin.

Fennorian was hard and more than ready; she could see the glistening drops collecting at the tip where it lay, pointed at his navel. Part of her wondered if her proximity alone could set him off, or perhaps even just resting her breasts against him, but she was more interested in feeling him in her mouth than answering those questions.

“You know, it’s crossed my mind…just how safe is it to be fellated by a person with fangs? Is it popular amongst our kind despite the risks?” The sudden babbling betrayed his anxiety.

“I can promise that I won’t hurt you…there _are,_ if you prefer, plenty of other wonderful things I’d be happy to do to you.” It was beyond amusing, the way he stared down at her with wide eyes as she peered up from between his legs.

“No, no. I trust you.” He told her quickly. “Carry on. If you please.” Somehow, she didn’t dissolve into giggles at his feigned businesslike tone.

“Has anyone done this for you…before?” She asked, not sure she wanted the answer. He shook his head. He was more inexperienced even than she thought. “That’s alright. Just relax.” Ouro reassured. “And you may do whatever you like with your hands.” He did not relax.

Very lightly, she brushed her lips along the length of him, pausing once to press a gentle kiss. Fennorian was already breathing hard, and she’d barely touched him, and the noise he made as she carefully let her tongue play over the soft parts of him was one that she wouldn’t _ever_ forget. The garbled syllables might have been words, but she’d never met a man who retained the capacity to speak when his balls were in someone’s mouth.

It was a little surprising that he managed to hold out through her careful but thorough ministrations. His eyes were big as saucers, and he couldn’t look away, gaping at her. With difficulty, she managed not to grin as his eyes rolled back when her tongue traced up the underside of his erection. But his focus renewed as she wrapped her fingers around him, pressing her lips against the tip before sliding them around his rigid flesh. She tasted the salty evidence of his arousal, and when she sucked, he gave a half-startled cry, his head falling back.

“What if…but I…when I…” His muscles had grown taut. “I don’t think I can…I can’t hold back…”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to warn me, I’ll know.” She resumed before he could reply, and his hips jerked. He was already right at the edge. Some other time she would show him just how enjoyable it was to draw it out. Ouro worked him with her hand and her mouth in unison, listening to his breath and the moans that escaped, though he tried to hold them back.

They hurdled past the point of no return, and reflexively he grabbed her by the hair, obviously fighting the urge to bury himself in her mouth, drawing close to climax. His consideration in the midst of something so intense was astounding. The sound that tore from him shook her, and he came, hips bucking regardless of his efforts. She was pleased, though, to have given him this…something that no one else ever had. Once he was entirely finished, she released him, and he was shaking, chest heaving.

“Are you okay?” She asked, shimmying up beside him. He blinked and muttered something incoherent before nodding.

“Yes…I…” He finally croaked. “Are you?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t know that it…that you would…” He pulled her against his chest, forehead pressed to hers. “I…” His eyes were on her mouth.

“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to, there should be a bottle of wine in the cabinet if you’d prefer that I…” She was cut off as Fenn found her lips with his own, holding her even tighter. When he finally pulled back, she was left a little bit dazed but smiling.

“Of course, I’ve heard lewd talk from men and mer alike about what it’s like, but I never thought…I quite liked that, I think.” He smiled.

“You think?” Ouro gave a snort of complete disbelief.

“Well, no. I know I did…but I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated…”

“I rather enjoyed doing it.”

“You did?” He seemed surprised.

“I like making you feel good. You make the most wonderful sounds.” She couldn’t help grinning.

“I probably sound ridiculous.” His cheeks darkened.

“You don’t.” She took his hand, putting it between her legs and his fingers slipped easily into her wetness. She inhaled sharply, then let out a shuddering breath as he pressed them deeper into her. “ _That’s_ what those sounds you make do to me.” His brows arched high.

“Really?” He was getting that scientific look about him again. “What else does that to you?”

“You spent an _entire_ night figuring that out. Tonight, it’s _your_ turn.” She’d already lost the upper hand, however, at least for the time being as he slid his arm beneath her neck, leaning down against her, fingers working diligently. He kissed her as she moved wantonly against him, already _so_ close. Ouro gave a small whine of complaint as he withdrew his hand. “…what are you…?

“I know you said you wanted to take your time, but…” A small, sheepish smile bloomed on his face.

“Already?” She glanced downward. “Then, I want you now.” Fenn didn’t need to be told twice as she pulled him over her, her thighs wide and waiting. He reached down and with one smooth stroke, was inside her. Conscious thought vanished as sensation took over as the language between bodies.

Fennorian wasn’t some strange intrusion into her body as sex often had felt before. She wanted him there, all of him. He wasn’t just a physical presence, a thing to take some shred of pleasure from. The barrier between the tactile and her mind had never been breached before, and when he was inside her, it was much more than his body that she allowed.

His eyes were still wide as he looked down at her, and when she breathed his name, he moved harder, no longer holding back his voice.

“Almost…” Ouro groaned through clenched teeth, urging him on. He braced his hands on the bed and gave in to the need, jarring her body with every thrust. The gathering tension released, and she cried out, letting it take hold of her and carry her away. Her nails bit into his flesh as she writhed beneath him, the pleasure gripping her. It had _never_ been like this with anyone else.

In everything he said and did, Fenn was always so conscious of being a vampire, especially around mortals. He feared the baser natures of what they were, always reining himself in, always so careful to avoid doing something that might put the mortals off. But in this, there was no hiding, no denial. They were creatures of hunger and desire, and Ouro wanted very much for him to see that with her, those things weren’t monstrous. With her, it was safe to let go because he wouldn’t hurt her, he couldn’t, and she would never allow him to do anything he might regret.

Always so proper, always so polite…seeing Fennorian naked, panting and moaning over her, hair in disarray as his weight pressed her into the bed made her want him more. It didn’t matter that she already had him, that he was already inside her, that the silence of night that wrapped itself around them was punctuated by the sounds of their breath, of flesh on flesh. The bed creaked, and in their fight to somehow get even closer to each other than they already were, there was the distant sound of something being knocked to the floor. It didn’t matter what it was.

That glorious moment where any and all control was lost, struck Fenn, and his face twisted in the grimace of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His back arched as he buried himself as deep as he could with the shuddering, involuntary movements of completion.

* * *

.

* * *

Ouro’s eyes were closed, and she was so very, very still. Fennorian frowned a little. Was she…asleep? He shifted, withdrawing from her, but settled down onto his elbows, brushing back a damp strand of her hair.

“I’m not asleep.” She murmured drowsily, and he marveled at her ability to accurately guess at his thoughts. “And I’m not reading your mind.”

“Stop that.”

“Sorry.” She chuckled and looked up at him, obviously not at all sorry. “I’m recovering…having just been fucked into Oblivion and all.” He made a face, but she put her arms around his neck, pulling him down close. “Kidding.” She kissed his nose, and Fennorian found he quite liked how warm and sentimental she was post-coitus. He made another face, this time at his own thoughts. Gods, _that_ term certainly wasn’t any better than _fucking_. “What?” A line of concern formed between her brows.

“Nothing.”

“Some sort of disturbing inner dialogue then.” Ouro nodded, unbothered.

“You’re the mind reader, you tell me.” He smirked in return, settling beside her, but still holding on. He didn’t want to have to ever let go.

“Alright.” She pursed her lips. “Since we _are_ sort of fond of each other, I suppose the word _fucking_ doesn’t wholly encompass the nature of the beast, so to speak.” She might not _actually_ be a mind reader, but apparently, he was more transparent to her keen sense of observation than he’d thought.

“Yes, I am _sort of_ fond of you.” He let out a long breath of mock exasperation.

“You know how bad I am at using my words.” She nestled more tightly against him, much to his pleasure. “So…that strikes all the cruder terms off the list.”

“What’s wrong with just saying _making love_?”

“Well, it certainly sounds less silly than _making fondness_.” She observed. Caught off guard, Fennorian laughed aloud.

Everything that had happened to Ouro in the span of her long life would have destroyed anyone else. Somehow, she’d never been consumed by her pain. Still, she could laugh and find enjoyment in things, and she made Fennorian laugh, too. He could only hope to have some semblance of that strength as his own years added up.

“Your impassioned _lovemaking_ rendered me speechless and exhausted. Better?”

He nodded. “I like that better, yes.”


	22. History

Ouro stared at the crate she’d brought up, ignoring that there were still several others downstairs. This one sat unthreateningly on the floor beside the table while she worked up the gumption to do what needed to be done. She was tired of Tesgrim. Of dealing with him, thinking about him, having to figure out what to do about him. Soren was right, though; there would be no peace for any of them until he was dust.

Fenn had taken his selection of reference materials down to the mess in the basement that she’d once intended to be a workstation of some sort. To his delight, she was in possession of a great many alchemical apparatuses sitting unused. He’d spent most of the morning down there arranging it to his liking, which was fine by her, of course. She could hear him talking poor Brynn’s ear off about reagents and the best ways to preserve and organize them. The woman had saintly patience, but also, she seemed very fond of him.

Progress was slow and frustrating as Ouro scoured pages and pages of notes, journals, and everything in between. Hours of searching had gotten her little more than a list of what could be coded dates and more intentionally vague references to children. Knowing what she did now, she felt beyond foolish for thinking Tesgrim had been her savior from her own father. His methods may have been different, but he was every bit the same monster that Chivisu was.

Tesgrim never kept her in a cage, but he’d kept her, nevertheless. He’d believed she’d forgive him anything until she didn’t. He hadn’t counted on her developing self-respect. After that, as time had gone on, the Riders became more and more hers as he stayed holed up, doing whatever it was he did.

Gods, it was going to be so wonderful to leave his head on a pike and burn the body. Then she’d never need to expend time or energy because of him ever again. If only she could find something useful to get her started.

“Can I help?” Fennorian asked as he approached from the stairs. Ouro sat back in her chair and sighed quietly. It _would_ go much more quickly with another pair of eyes. There were several Riders that would have been well suited to help in this endeavor, but she’d had her home invaded enough for this decade.

“I want to say yes, but I worry that going through all this, you might come across things that are…unpleasant.” She watched as he sat in the chair adjacent to her and shrugged.

“Would it be anything about things I don’t already know about you?”

“Likely not, just details about things you do know.”

“Would any of those details affect us?”

“I can’t see how.” She pursed her lips, thinking. He had a point, and he _was_ a mature, highly intelligent, fact-oriented person. “ _If_ you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Then, I welcome whatever help you might lend me.” Leaning across the table, she grabbed a stack of things from the To-Do pile and plopped them down in front of Fenn.

“What sorts of things, in general, should I be on the lookout for?” He began shuffling through the papers at once, fanning the pages of a journal and coughed as a puff of dust rose from it.

“Gods…there’s just…I’m not sure how to even explain it.” Ouro rubbed her face, eyes aching a little.

“I’ll tell you what. You’ve been at this for hours; how about I distract you for a little bit? Take a small break.” He smiled, taking her hand, and she blinked slowly.

“Tempting though it is, Fennorian…I’m not feeling particularly _amorous_ just now…”

“There _are_ other means of distraction. I _meant_ just talking.” He stood, giving her hand a tug. “I’ve been inhaling alchemy fumes for the better part of the day; I’m not particularly interested in seeing what the effects of that might be on anything of an _amorous_ nature.”

“In that case, a break would be wonderful.” She let him lead her upstairs, and rather than making for the bed-chamber, he sat on one of the plush, cushioned couches. When Ouro sat beside him, he pulled her legs up and across his lap, letting her back rest against the arm.

“I never told you how I came to know Verandis.” He took her hand in both of his, slowly beginning to massage her palm. No one had ever done such a thing before, and she watched with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

“No, you haven’t…” She murmured, oddly feeling some tension starting to leave her. He worked his way outward, even massaging her fingers.

“I was a boy…still living, of course.” He started. She snapped to attention, ready to learn whatever it was he’d finally decided to share with her. “Despite being ancient, Verandis, technically, is kin. He’s a many-times great uncle something or other. Once, he tried to explain it, and even I couldn’t keep up. I accepted that we were related and left it at that.” A faint smile curled his lips as he stared at nothing, recalling the memories. “He hid his condition from me at first, I think otherwise my family would have never allowed him to interact with me. I did figure it out quickly, of course. He’s the family’s worst kept secret, really.” His strong fingers still worked on her hand and wrist. Were it not for the story he was telling, it might have made her sleepy.

“I find it hard to picture Altmer letting a vampire around their child.”

“It was unusual, to be sure. My family had been militarily oriented for generations. Whether it was being part of an army, working their way up through the ranks, belonging to the guard or the justiciars…they’d been heavily involved in law and keeping the peace, so to speak. I was lucky to be the third child and largely left to my own devices. All the responsibility of upholding the family honor fell to them, and I was free to pursue my keen interests in the arcane and alchemy.”

“Were they disappointed that you weren’t eager to take up arms and join the _ranks_ of their legacy?” Ouro asked, watching his face. Fenn gave a noncommittal shrug, meeting her eyes.

“Perhaps. I can’t say for sure; I was something of a non-entity to them, I think. I never felt close to them or even familial. I still received the formal education of someone expected to follow in the family footsteps, which…was beneficial during the times I was required to defend myself.”

“Not all for nothing then.” She let him start on her other hand, wondering vaguely if he might be convinced to do this for her entire body at some point.

“I suppose not.” His eyes were distant again, staring into space as he spoke. “Verandis encouraged and supported my academic endeavors. He always drove me to explore all avenues of knowledge. When I was of age, I left home and studied at various universities and guilds. I traveled, seeking out libraries and master alchemists. There was so much world to see, and I meant to learn all its secrets…to _really_ experience it, even. Though, safely, of course.”

“I suppose you’ve got all the time you need, now, to do that.” Ouro had always been fascinated by the stories that vampires told of their lives before they turned. She had no such story. Her un-life was as it had always been.

“I’m Altmer, I might have had that time anyway.” His eyes looked sad when they met hers again, more blue than red in that moment.

“That’s a good point.” She conceded quietly, feeling bad. She knew part of him still mourned his mortality; she didn’t want to make that worse.

“I was nosing around a ruin I had no business being at alone when I ran afoul of the vampires.” Fenn’s demeanor shifted so abruptly it almost startled Ouro. He wasn’t just telling her how he knew Verandis; he was telling her _everything_. The thing that haunted him, and even now, the look in his eyes was infinitely worse than after he was tortured.

She pushed herself to sit up more, worried. “You don’t have to…”

“I do.” The pained look in his eyes drove into her like a blade, but she nodded.

“Then, I will listen.” As she took his hands, he went on.

“Had it been some feral roving pack, I think it might not have been so bad. I mean…it would have still been bad, since, well…I’d have been killed, but the mindless ones act out of hunger, not cruelty. These ones, there were fifteen or so…I was vastly outnumbered, and you know what my fighting skills are like. They were much worse then, when I had no strength.” Fennorian paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “They were delighted by my terror and did everything they could to heighten it. They fed on me for…I’m not sure…two days maybe. It was dark, I had no way of knowing.”

Ouro felt a surge of rage swirling around her heart, but she kept still, she didn’t interrupt. Part of her hoped the vampires were killed; the other part hoped she could do it.

“I watched them drag some woman in and drain her dry; they laughed while I screamed myself hoarse, begging them to kill me instead of her. They thought I tasted sweet, they didn’t want me to go to waste.” His muscles had tensed, and he was squeezing her hands, but still, she only listened. “They started talking about turning me, and I begged them just to let me die. Verandis had told me the horrors of being a vampire; I wanted _no_ part of that. Better I die than be made into a monster.” He was shaking, lips twisted in disgust. “They did _whatever_ they wanted, and I was powerless. I was warm and alive; those were their only requirements for enjoyment. When they grew bored of that, they decided to turn me. I was force-fed their blood and then fed more after I vomited it up. When I finally kept it down, they drained me. I felt myself dying, and I hoped somehow that it was the end, that they hadn’t turned me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ouro whispered, wanting to take the memories from him, wanting to save him from ever having to relive the nightmare.

“My wish was not granted, and they kept me chained, starved me for what felt like an eternity, but was probably a few days. They were so pleased with themselves when they brought me my first meal. Some young man in tattered clothes, his eyes were wide and terrified…” Fenn clenched his jaw, quiet as he took a moment before he could go on. “I was starved, there was no possible way to control myself…and when they took off the chains…” His face twisted, and Ouro shifted onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He whispered. “I killed him, of course, I still hate myself for it…it was unforgivable.”

Silence hung between them for a long moment. There was nothing she could offer to make him feel better. She had heard every stupid attempt at consoling that anyone could have ever thought to say.

“Someday, you will feel you’ve atoned, and you will forgive yourself.” Ouro pulled back, looking into his glassy eyes as he nodded. “Knowing it wasn't your fault changes nothing, I know. But...someday.”

“Thank you.” He sighed, slumping.

“For what?”

“For not trying to change how I feel about it right now.” He looked even closer to tears than before.

“It’s not for me to try to change. But I’ll do whatever I can to help while you’re feeling it.”

“I am grateful.” He let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I meant to pay for his life with my own. They’d left me there, and when I finally worked up the courage, I went into the sunlight, ready to burn. And nothing happened. I sat in the sun for hours, and that’s when Verandis found me.”

“He found you? How did he know?”

“I was supposed to meet with him, and since I never arrived…he tracked me down. He was so angry…not with me, of course, he knew I would have never chosen this.” The look in Fenn’s eyes was that of shame and regret. “He found someone willing to be fed upon, but I didn’t trust myself to drink unless it was from a cup or…any vessel that wasn’t a _person_. Even still, I prefer not to drink from the vein if I can help it. Just…the memories…”

“I can see why.” Ouro nodded but frowned a little. “But…we…”

“That’s different _entirely_ …I love you, and I know I won’t hurt you. Those horrors are the farthest thing from my mind when we’re together.” He hadn’t said it outright before, and just so casually stuck it right in the middle of a sentence.

“Well, I love you, too.” It fell out of her mouth before her brain had the opportunity to overthink it. Fenn blinked quickly, then seemed to realize what had just happened, and he gave a bashful smile, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he looked down.

“Oh, good…can you imagine how embarrassed I would be if you didn’t?” He gave a soft, nervous chuckle. She kissed him lightly, tightening her hold on him a little.

“Thank you for telling me all that. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“I’ve wanted to for quite a while. Now that I have, I’m not sure what I was so afraid of.”

“The fear of reliving it…of having to feel all those terrible things all over again.” Ouro shrugged her shoulders. “Perfectly good reasons to wait.”

“You’ve been so patient and understanding…did it bother you?”

“What? Waiting?” She shook her head. “I’ve been wondering since the first day I met you, and of course, I want to know everything that you want to tell me, but…I wouldn’t demand it.”

“I have much less to tell than you do; you’ll get bored, I fear.”

“I have no doubt that you are anything but boring. With a mind like yours, I can’t fathom that you’ll ever run out of questions or things to learn. Plus, there’s still a lot bit of this world even I haven’t seen.”

“So, perhaps we really _will_ visit Akavir?” His eyes brightened.

“We can go wherever you like. Once all this Gray Host nonsense is over, and Tesgrim is taken care of…we’ll be free.” The world felt suddenly much bigger and much more mysterious. It was exciting to think they might go places neither of them had ever seen.

“I will still have my responsibilities with the Ravenwatch, of course.”

“Well, of course. But…I’m sure whatever you might learn in faraway places will be useful for Ravenwatch purposes as well.” Ouro grinned.

“That’s a good point.” Fenn nodded. “I’ll be sure to remember that when I have to make my case to the others.”

Despite being a sort of _day off_ , Ouro and Fennorian had spent a good deal of it working and much less of it lying around languidly in bed, treating one another to all manner of delights. They were in the midst of a crisis; it hadn’t been easy to allow themselves even what little time they had. More hours had passed of searching, and mental fatigue was starting to set in. Ouro much preferred the physical variety; it was much easier to recover from.

“I’m not sure how much more of this I can handle for one day.” She sat back in her chair, tossing down the journal. Fenn gave a nod of agreement as he began reading the next letter on his pile. He was always so focused and determined-looking when set on a task. His thorough analysis of everything that passed through his hands may have slowed things down a tad, but Ouro at least felt better knowing that nothing would be missed.

Fennorian stiffened and blanched. Given his vampiric complexion, it was something of a shock to see there was any level of paler than he already was. Fear and anger flitted across his features, then disgust and horror. In her opinion, such reactions to Tesgrim were par for the course, but Fenn had received everything calmly and without much response all day.

“What is it?” She dreaded the answer, whatever it might be. It was difficult to recall an entire six centuries of memories, and so there was no telling if he’d stumbled upon some other terrible thing she might have spared him from if given the choice.

“A letter.” He whispered. “Dated only weeks ago, from Tzinghalis to Tesgrim.” Now Ouro understood his reaction as she experienced a similar one.

A hundred biting remarks surged forth, but they stuck in her throat. The seed of suspicion regarding Tesgrim’s potential association with the Gray Host had been planted the instant she told him about what was happening as he reacted flippantly and without care. It was a fear she’d been harboring all this time, one made exponentially worse as she destroyed Tzinghalis’s lab. He’d laughed at her, and his words had haunted her despite the blind rage she’d entered that place in. _He said I’ve never seen anything like you, and he was right._ The rotting son of a bitch had died laughing at her for her ignorance.

Ouro looked away from where Fennorian sat, his eyes wide with concern, watching whatever it was her face was doing. She gripped the edges of the table, reaching for composure. What she was feeling, this was what she was so tired of—being dragged back and forth across a treacherous bed of coals, being burned by lies and deceit, manipulation, and disregard.

When she looked up again, she let out a long breath.

“Let me see the letter, please.” She held out her hand, and he passed it to her at once, questions all over his face that for the moment he wisely kept to himself. The letter was undoubtedly as jarring for him as it was for her.

_Tesgrim,_

_Your findings proved very interesting. I must think on them yet, however. I will need to run a great many tests to see if your claim is valid. It’s been sought after since the beginning of our kind, but, if your ideas are founded in truth, they may very well be a welcome addendum to the Ashen Lord’s plans, though certainly a bit of an afterthought. We must secure our place in the world before branching out to include the intent to…home grow our population. Also, your prediction was spot on. Your so-called pure scion has made an appearance here and killed quite a few of those I have staffing and guarding my tower. She is indeed the menace you warned of. All this work has been born from the research of an old friend, so her companion may prove quite useful as well. Here’s hoping we’re lucky enough to get our hands on both. You always did tend toward the dramatic, though, so I am yet uncertain that the severity of your warnings is worth taking into account. It matters not; there are a great many of us and only one of her. We can discuss things in much more detail, though, when next we meet._

_-Tzinghalis_

Ouro read the letter three times. It was intentionally vague, like much of Tesgrim’s writings, yet arrogant enough to include details that might be useful. She hoped the madman’s backhanded remarks stung enough to infuriate Tesgrim. It provided the pieces she needed to solidify her suspicions, and they slid seamlessly into place. Likely he fled somewhere believed to be safe by him and the Gray Host both.

“I suppose they never did get to have that in-depth discussion.” She set the letter on the table, still staring at the creased parchment.

“Do you know what that’s all about?” Fenn asked, sitting forward. “Does it give you something to go on?”

Ouro nodded slowly. “I think I have a pretty good idea of what he was up to, and the likelihood of his failure if the Gray Host can be dismantled. He lost the Riders, so he’ll be looking for new support.” All of these revelations aside, what she _didn’t_ understand was why Tzinghalis had deemed Fenn important, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I do like to adhere as closely as possible to the lore of Tamriel and its canon information and events, it took me THIS long to get to Fennorian's past in a chapter. I had to be sure, though, that I wasn't going to be in conflict with his canon origins, and so waited until I could confirm whether or not they'd be revealed to us in game. Sadly, they are not (unless ZOS is going to sneaky ninja them in somewhere that I missed whilst scouring the PTS...in which case....DAMMIT!). And I'm very sorry if revealing that has spoiled anything for anyone. :(  
> Had any of the details of his canon backstory been revealed, I would most certainly have waited until AFTER the DLC release in a few weeks and written SPOILER!!!!! all over it.  
> As always, thank you for reading!!! <3


	23. Harrowstorm

Fennorian and Friends hurdled down into the vestibule from upstairs moments after a guard had come tearing into the palace from outside. Amidst shouting and some sort of uproar, there was no telling what exactly was going on. Ouro, sitting quietly, watched and slowly turned a page of the book she wasn’t actually reading. In an effort to make things _less_ challenging for them, she’d remained here rather than risk whatever outburst her presence would evoke from the king.

They all looked universally disturbed, but the princess seemed especially shaken. Surprising, since by that point, she ought to have been well accustomed to being screamed at by Svargrim. Ouro got to her feet.

“It would seem that your hard-won solution to this very serious problem was _not_ embraced with open arms and warm thanks.” She tossed the book onto the table where she’d found it, and Fenn shook his head.

“He’s a vampire.” He breathed.

“Who is?” Her eyes flicked around them in search of some other individual who might be going to be along for whatever it was they’d try to do next.

“The king!” Fennorian was utterly flabbergasted, and in truth, Ouro should have been as well. Her ability to be surprised had become rather impaired these last several weeks, and she took a deep breath. That explained the guards’ strange ignorance of her presence since they’d obviously been influenced somehow to ignore vampires—no wonder the queen was so easily assassinated.

“He’s gone from merely soul-sucking to blood-sucking as well.” She muttered. “Lovely.” At least Savien was paying enough attention to give a snort of amusement. Fenn, on the other hand, was in the throes of overanalyzing every minute detail that might have somehow led him earlier to this shocking and unpleasant revelation. Ouro knew a fair amount about the Gray Host and their history, and she knew enough about Rada Al-Saran, the so-called Ashen Lord, to be aware of the fact that even at her age, her power, however strong it was…was merely a drop in the bucket compared to his. He was ancient—early First Era ancient.

“And now, the Gray Host has closed off the Temple of the Divines.” Lyris filled in the last blank, thankfully. Ouro closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in unspoken frustration, trying to bang together some sort of action plan or idea that might give them any foothold.

“For things to so abruptly escalate, they’ve clearly noticed the progress you’ve all made.” It would have taken an idiot _not_ to notice the interference these people had caused. They were about as subtle as the Harrowstorms themselves were. “Meddling may have shortened the timeline, but it leaves copious opportunities for errors on their part. No rushed plan is ever without its holes.” Her mind raced. While the Riders remained at her disposal, she would need to make use of them. As bad as this was going to get, they needed every bit of help they could muster. Who better than a hundred battle-hardened vampires trained and proficient in eliminating _other_ vampires? Though, this was certainly a step up from the nests they’d taken care of in recent decades.

“If they’re rushed, we are too!” Svana protested.

“Yes, but their plans require a great deal more meticulous work and timing; ours requires us to go in, kill whatever is in the way, wreak havoc, and smash whatever important thing that they’re using to achieve their ends…whatever the fuck those are.” Ouro straightened her jacket, starting for the door. There was no use wasting time.

“How do you know they’re using something?” Savien spoke up.

Ouro looked back at him. “Because they’re always using something. I haven’t met a mass of power-hungry monsters that _weren’t_ be assisted by something, someone, or some sort of tool in their endeavor.”

Standing in the courtyard of Castle Dour, they’d run headlong into a roadblock. The pivotal reagent for Fennorian’s protective elixir was locked behind the magically sealed doors of the Temple of the Divines. Even Ouro was uncertain how to unravel the spellwork that had been done to keep them closed. The Gray Host attack would come from Blackreach, from the keep positioned directly below Solitude. So, that was where they needed to go to stop the impending Harrowstorm. But there also needed to be a contingency plan, there needed to be _some_ way to try and shield whatever people they could from the storm’s effects if they were unable to stop it, and there was only one way to do that.

“I can’t go with you.” She took Fennorian aside, and he flinched at her words, fear in his eyes.

“Why not? Your assistance will be _invaluable_ , Ouro…I don’t know if I can go back down there alone…”

“You won’t be alone. You’ll have Lyris, Savien, Svana…” The internal debate she’d been having with herself between the palace and that courtyard concluded. “I will send Soren and several Riders to assist you, but the rest of us must…”

“Oh,” He understood and nodded. “You must save who you can if we aren’t fast enough.”

“Always have a Plan B. Sometimes, C, D, and E as well.” She gave a small smile, doing her best to bury her concern. “I know this city well; with the Riders, I can get as many as possible somewhere that might be safe and ward it if I have to.”

“And you are sure they will come?”

“They each swore an oath to answer my call when they were blooded.” Already, Ouro was reaching inward, preparing herself. “And they’re no longer obligated to Tesgrim.”

“That’s good.” Fenn nodded but still looked anxious. “And Soren…?”

“He’s never disobeyed an order.”

“If you trust him, then I will, too.” He had a sick look on his face, perhaps trying to convince himself. As Ouro slowly rubbed her hands together, palms faintly glowing red, his attention turned from anxiety to her. “What _are_ you doing?”

“Putting out the Call.” When she opened her hands, wisps of red-black smoke rose from her skin, and a muted pulse emitted from her. Fennorian looked wildly around, perplexed as the others didn’t appear to notice. “Mortals cannot sense it.” Ouro smiled.

“I have so many questions…” Taking her hands, he looked closely at her palms. She stifled a chuckle as he straightened up, suddenly. “No, that must wait until after all this.”

The sound of swords being drawn pulled Fennorian and Ouro from their discussion, turning to where Swordthane Uthlet and his guards all shakily stood with wide eyes, ready to fight. Even Lyris and Savien looked taken aback. They had every reason to be afraid, though, as mounted Riders filled the courtyard. The horses with their glowing red eyes peered at them, some shifting a little, all at the ready, Soren at the front.

“Deep breath, Swordthane.” Ouro sidled up beside the jumpy Nord, who nearly jerked away from her. “These are Blood Riders, and they’re here to help.”

“Blood Riders…what _other_ fantastical things are going to appear today? Hm? _What’s next?!_ ” He shook his head, overwhelmed, and perhaps frustrated as well. No doubt, he saw much of this as a failure on his part.

“This is it, for now, I think. At least, I know I haven’t got anything else up _my_ sleeve.” She nudged him with her elbow.

“Who _are_ you?”

“A concerned citizen, that’s all.” Ouro left the bewildered Swordthane, approaching the Riders. “Soren, take five of your choice and accompany Lyris and the others into Blackreach.” She was relieved that he didn’t question the command. Nothing had changed, then, truly his loyalty held firm. “The rest of you, we work to get as many citizens as far underground as we can. There is a refuge in the barrow beneath the city, typically thieves and that ilk gather there. But now, it’s a refuge for everyone.”

“With me.” Soren nodded toward his right, and five of the Riders came forward to stand beside him.

“Good. Swordthane,” Ouro turned again. “Decide how many you need and where; we will do what we can.”

“Erm…yes…okay.” He nodded, uncertainty etched on his face, but looked to the few guards he had left to discuss.

“That’s very generous, Ouro.” Lyris put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. We will need every single person we can get, but I’m glad you’ll be up here finding a way to get folks to safety in case…” She stopped, moving her shoulders a little uncomfortably as the very real possibility of failure sunk in. “I’m just glad, alright?”

“Of course. I may not be a Nord, but Skyrim is my home.”

“Where _are_ you from, anyway?” Lyris folded her arms. Ouro paused, deciding how much to say.

“Nowhere and everywhere, I suppose. My mother was a Breton Wyress, and my father was a Tsaesci vampire lord.” She shrugged at the bald-faced shock on Lyris’s face. “We are what we are.”

Despite how it felt, in the interest of hoping for any success, Ouro knew that the best thing for everyone was for her and Fennorian to be in different places for the coming fight. The needs of the many were priority, and if her focus was on him, it wasn’t on the lives she’d promised to protect.

“When you’re down there, don’t forget what you are.” They’d gotten a moment away from prying eyes, and she leaned against him, hoping it wasn’t for the last time.

“A scholar?” Fenn frowned, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“A _vampire_.”

“Right. Obviously.” He cleared his throat a little but watched her eyes, touching her hair. He was hoping the same thing she was.

“Whatever the horrors, it gives us strength. If it keeps you alive, embrace it, give in to it. If something is trying to hurt you or the others…tear it limb from limb. Monstrous acts against monsters to protect the innocent are forgivable, I assure you. And you won’t be alone; you don’t have to worry.”

“Are you reassuring me, or yourself?” He cocked one eyebrow up.

“Both, perhaps.” With her arms around his neck, Ouro leaned up and kissed him. As he pressed her back against the cool stones, she could feel his urgency and apprehension in the embrace. His fear pained her, aching inside her as intensely as her own. “Fennorian, I just want to tell you…”

“No.” He pressed his forehead against hers, a small tremble coursing through him despite how hard he tried to push it down. “Don’t you dare tell me goodbye.”

“Of course not.” Drawing a shaky breath, Ouro nodded, reluctant to let him go. “I will see you when this is done. Fight well, and may our faces haunt our enemies for eternity when they arrive in whatever hell we send them to.”

* * *

.

* * *

There was silence, and then there was _silence_. The descent into Blackreach was devoid of conversation besides Lyris’s periodic observations and muttered curses at stray stones in the path. Savien had been watching her mounting discomfort in the company of six _more_ vampires. And they were six vampires than not a single one of them would stand a chance against in an altercation. Despite how unnerving they were, he wasn’t especially worried. They were Ouro’s Riders; they were loyal to her, and she was loyal to Fennorian. He didn’t want to think about what might happen to someone who betrayed her, though. Myths and legends aplenty existed about the Blood Riders, about the brutal efficiency with which they operated. He suspected there was a lot of truth in those legends, unlike most things that went bump in the night.

That aside, he was having a particularly good time watching the tension that had steadily been growing between Fennorian and Soren. The latter was Ouro’s second in command and had been for hundreds of years. The former was the love of her life, and both knew _very_ little about one another. The potential for something dramatic was almost overwhelming. Savien did love a good show.

Soren was everything that anyone might envision for someone like Ouro to be partnered with at first glance. Strong, loyal, well-trained, deadly. Though, as far as his personality was concerned, he had no idea what the towering and incredibly good-looking blond vampire was like. Fennorian, on the other hand, was no fighter, but he _was_ brilliant and sensitive. Perhaps that was what Ouro needed. She’d been around warriors for centuries; it made sense that she didn’t want to _be_ with another one.

The two Altmer men watched one another at various intervals, both entirely aware of it, but neither brought it to attention. Savien lurked close enough to be within earshot but far enough away to avoid being obtrusive.

After what seemed like an eternity, Fennorian looked directly at Soren as he peered at the much younger elf, bristling considerably.

“If you’ve got something to say, I think it would serve us both better if you just said it.” Fenn’s posture somehow seemed even more rigid than it usually was.

“I _am_ curious to be perfectly honest. I suppose I might have a tidbit or two of advice, as well.” Soren shrugged one shoulder, and even that was graceful and smooth.

“Is this where you threaten death and dismemberment should I ever misstep and cause Ouro any unhappiness?” Fenn narrowed his eyes at the other Altmer, who gave a laugh, momentarily drawing the attention of the others.

“No.” He scoffed. “We both know if I was stupid enough to do such a thing, that she’d strangle me to death with my own guts.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Fennorian’s gaze returned to the treacherous path they were walking on. It was rocky and steep, and none of the non-vampires had the luxury of being able to see in the dark.

“Good.” Soren chuckled again.

“And I don’t require advice, thank you. I’m content to make and atone for my own mistakes.”

“You _are_ smart.”

“I do have to ask _why_ you’re so intently observing me.” Fenn glanced over at Soren.

“Because I’ve known her a long time. I’ve seen her happy and sad…well, it was I thought was happiness. Turns out not.” Soren pursed his lips, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “She’s a bit scary, I’m sure you’ve noticed, and often I’ve found myself grateful to be on her side. I don’t think Tesgrim even knows what she’s capable of. But that’s neither here nor there. My point is that…well, I’ve _never_ , in hundreds of years, seen her the way she is with you. So, I find myself wondering…what is it about you?”

“I ask myself that constantly,” Fennorian muttered.

Savien looked from one to the other, waiting for _anything_ interesting, but silence stretched on for several moments before Soren spoke again.

“I would give my life for her, and nearly have several times. But she’s put the lot of us before herself for as long as I can remember. The very best thing for her was to step away from the Riders and finally do something that _she_ wanted to. Which, as it turns out, is you.” Soren smirked, and Fenn made a flustered, incoherent sort of noise. “Oh, you’re shy, as well. How charming.”

Finding his voice again, Fenn cleared his throat and steered the topic safely back where it belonged. “I thought you wanted her to take up the reins again.”

“If that was what she wanted, yes. But I know it isn’t.” Soren was grinning to himself, still amused. “The best I can hope for when all this is finished is that she will still visit now and then.” Soren sighed theatrically but looked over at the younger elf once more. “I can see that you don’t want her to join us again.”

“And you think that’s selfish.”

“Depends.”

“On?” Fenn stopped, fists on his hips. Realizing it, Soren paused, too, a small frown across his perfect brow.

“Well, if it _was_ what she wanted, would you try to stop her?”

“Never.” Fenn scoffed.

“Then, it’s not selfish.” Soren clapped Fenn on the shoulder and kept walking.

Savien was almost disappointed. There was some twisted part of him that would have loved a good, dramatic vampire fight over the woman they loved. Though, it had become clear that Soren’s loyalty was that of a friend and subordinate. Not _everything_ could be sordid and juicy. Unfortunately.

They’d be in for plenty of drama soon enough, though.

* * *

.

* * *

Two days of chaotic preparation had breezed by much more quickly than Ouro would have liked. They needed more time, but she and her Riders had beguiled their way into the homes of as many Solitude citizens as they could, encouraging them to gather supplies and make ready to go underground. There were some, of course, that outright refused, and there simply wasn’t enough time to waste trying to convince them otherwise. There would always be people who died because of their own stubbornness. It was a reality she’d long ago come to terms with. Not everyone could or would be saved.

It was a relief when at least a few people recognized Ouro as their neighbor and fellow citizen. It was immensely helpful, considering they were much more willing to trust someone they knew had lived there for as long as they could remember. The Riders needed to mask their true nature, however. After all, why would anyone listen to a bunch of vampires trying to save them from _other_ vampires? The intricacies and complicated nuances between vampire factions and clans were lost on humans, especially simple folk who had no reason to think about it. To them, they were all the same.

Unnatural thunder rumbled, muted by morning fog, but there was no red mist yet at least. Once that started, they’d be all out of time. There was quiet, fearful shuffling, and from her place, perched atop Brazzelac, Ouro saw a small group of Nords hurrying toward the entrance of the barrow. At least _some_ of them weren’t taking any risks.

Thunder rumbled again, more insistent, and the ground trembled, shaking even the trees. Brazz shifted, looking down at his own feet, disconcerted.

“I think it’s starting.” The Rider waiting beside her, called Kaia, was battle-scarred and hardened by the centuries. She bared her fangs, eyes scanning the clouds.

“I think you’re right.” Ouro sighed, turning Brazz around as she craned her neck to spot any of the others she’d posted along the street. Two blocks down, one of them raised his hand, and she gave a sharp whistle to get their attention. She couldn’t let herself think about the implications. If the Harrowstorm was about to start, then everyone who’d gone into Blackreach was not likely coming back out.

The people. She _needed_ to think about the people. Everything else would wait.

“Mist.” Urgency raised in Kaia’s tone, but Ouro saw the very faint flecks of red swirling through the fog. “Orders?”

Ouro snarled, her eyes flashing. “Get everyone you can; I don’t care if you have to tear them from their beds. Get them into that barrow, _now_.” Brazz reared as lightning struck close by. “No more asking nicely; we’re not here to be loved.”

The Riders were connected; giving one the order was giving it to all of them. That’s what it meant to answer the Call. She hadn’t wanted it to be like this, to frighten these people by dragging them into a grave, but it was the only thing that might save their lives.

Through the heavy silence of early morning, she listened to the sounds of hooves on cobblestone, shouts, and the crack of doors being broken down. The ends justified the means, and she could trust her own to harm no one.

The screaming and shouting grew as the citizens of Solitude were forced from their homes and taken to the tunnel entrance. Crowds had rushed into the streets at the commotion, and with a flash of red from the sky, and a booming explosion, the city shook. Their eyes all turned upwards as the swirling storm began forming over Castle Dour. At long last, everyone seemed convinced and began rushing for the one place they’d been told was safe.

Now there was also the risk of people being trampled. As Ouro scanned the area, several of the Riders saw her and nodded in understanding, wading into the throng of people to keep them from killing each other in their panic.

Soren and the Riders who had ventured into Blackreach felt obscured by an unfamiliar darkness. Ouro hadn’t sensed their deaths, but wasn’t sure if she even would if they were being kept from her in such a way. As the storm began to grow over the tower, she left the herding to the others and started making her way toward the castle. They would do just fine without her, and if she could perhaps find a way to stop the storm, she would. Even if the cost was her life, it was her duty to do what was right.

There were dead strewn about in the courtyard, a handful of vacant harrowed, and several harrowfiends that appeared to have expired in especially violent ways. Ouro peered upward at the tower, and to her surprise, saw Savien scurrying across the upper levels, the princess on his heels. She started for the ramp, but from behind the temple doors came a loud shriek and an angry shout that sounded like Lyris.

Savien was a big boy; he’d helped stop a Planemeld; he could handle whatever was up that tower. Probably.

She was done debating and turned to the doors. They were no longer magically warded, and with one good shove, she pushed it open enough to slip inside. The temple courtyard was smaller and swarming with harrowfiends. The stones were painted with blood, and more splashed as Lyris swung her axe, taking down at least four at a time.

“There are too many!” Lyris cried, swinging the axe again and again.

A harrowfiend hurled by, making contact with the stone wall with a sickening crunch. Another followed, accompanied by a vicious snarl.

Fennorian emerged from the throng as they swarmed him, his eyes almost entirely black. Distantly, Ouro knew she should be helping, she should be stopping these animals in their madness, but she could only stare as they were torn apart. He was as mad as they were, but at least his ferocity was aimed at the fiends. The numbers were waning, and coming to her senses, Ouro flung blood-red shards at the creatures, piercing their hearts, and they dropped like stones.

When the last harrowfiend was dead, Feral Fenn flung himself at Lyris, whose axe was already raised, and she stood, streaked with blood, chest heaving. She didn’t have vampiric craze, but the drive to kill was just as plain on her face.

“Lyris, no! Wait!” Ouro called, too late. The half-giant was mid-swing and made contact just as Fennorian reached her. Rather than with the blade, she struck him hard with the flat of the axe, and he gave a strangled yelp as he sailed through the air like a ragdoll. Ouro blinked, staring at where he lay, somewhat crumpled and face down. He was breathing hard, so it hadn’t killed him, at least. She couldn’t fault Lyris; anyone in their right mind would have done the same, though perhaps not as successfully.

“Savien went up to stop Svargrim.” Lyris wiped her mouth then spat blood onto the ground.

“Svargrim is doing this?”

“Yes…he…” Fennorian struggled to his feet, and Ouro quickly helped him up. “Rada Al-Saran empowered him, making it so _he_ controlled the harrowstorm. Meanwhile, the Ashen Lord himself vanished to who knows where.”

“The big bad vampire couldn’t even stand to get his own hands dirty.” Ouro scowled, shaking her head, and they all looked up at the sky. The swirling vortex of red seemed to stutter, and then with another loud crack, it began to dissipate.

“Oh…good…” Fenn collapsed onto a bench, breathing hard. He was sporting his fair share of wounds, but he’d made it through.

“But…” Her stomach sank. “What happened to Soren and the others? Where are they?”

“They were behind us.” Lyris wilted a little. “Before we reached the undercroft…there were hundreds of them coming up after us…he told us to keep going…we don’t know what happened.”

“Those weren’t harrowfiends; they were gray host vampires and werewolves…I…” Fennorian shook his head, looking pained. “I cannot think that they would have made it out…there were only six of them.”

“Six Blood Riders, Fenn.” Ouro’s jaw clenched, and she took deep breaths. “Until I see his corpse, I will hold out hope.” Fenn, though still looking skeptical, simply nodded.


	24. Respite

Despite Lyris’s warnings, Fennorian refused to allow Ouro to go alone down through the temple to where Soren and the Riders had last been seen. It was where they’d made a stand against the coming swarm of Gray Host vampires. With a frustrated sigh, Lyris followed them. Though Ouro hadn’t asked that she come, the extra help was welcome.

With much reluctance, Ouro let Fenn lead the way. He would hear none of her arguments regarding his current state and the fact he needed blood, which she’d readily offered. But he’d insisted they go look for her comrades without delay.

The temple proper and the path to the undercroft were littered with the bodies of Nords and harrowfiends alike. The eerie silence hung heavy in the coppery air. The scent of blood was strong, and even Ouro struggled to push it from mind. With the storm successfully interrupted, the tremors had ceased. There was only the sound of their footsteps in the soundless cavern at the top of Blackreach.

“Soren told us to keep going right before we went out to cross the bridge.” Lyris’s voice sounded oddly harsh, echoing on the stone. Fenn made a disgruntled sort of noise.

“What?” Ouro frowned, concerned.

“It’s a precarious bridge…very high up. The way the stone was crumbling, I will be surprised if it is still in place.” He pointed ahead of them, though. “There. The door.” When he reached it, he gave a shove, but it wouldn’t budge. Lyris started to step forward but thought better of it. Skinny elf or not, his strength was comparable to hers at worst, and at best, it was a great deal stronger.

“Here, use this to pry it open.” She held out her axe, and Fennorian’s eyes rested on it briefly before he blinked and shook his head.

“You’ll never forgive me if I bend your axe…” He began to protest.

“Fenn.” With an exasperated sigh, she shoved it into his hands. “It’s a gods damned axe; I can get a new one if it breaks.”

After some trial and error, they positioned it correctly, and the three of them began to slowly pry the doors open. When there was enough of an edge to grasp, Fenn gripped it and pulled. There was the sound of gravel and stone shifting, and he managed to push Ouro back as some rubble poured in.

“The tremors must have gotten much worse after we’d come through…” He murmured, pushing rocks and dirt out of the way. There was at least enough room for them to get through, and to their surprise, the wood and rope bridge seemed largely intact. Ouro gasped as a dusty figure stepped into view on the other side of it, though, dressed in Riders’ leathers.

“Over here!” The figure called. She knew his voice.

“Neras?” Ouro pushed ahead of Fenn, crossing the bridge at once, which wobbled and creaked a little. Out of all of them, the only one in danger of succumbing to its collapse was Lyris, as she was _not_ a vampire.

“Oh, good…” Neras let out a relieved breath as Ouro reached him, the others on her heels. There were only three Riders, though, and on the landing, half lying down, shoulders propped against the wall was one more, blood caked in his blonde hair.

“You managed not to get yourself killed.” Until that moment, she hadn’t known just how afraid she was that he could be gone.

“Unlike three of our own.” He looked up at her, blinking slowly, and only then did she realize the extent of his injuries. “Did get my arm torn off at the elbow, though. Turns out, it’s not much fun.” He lifted the arm in question, his left, where blood dripped, and what remained of the sleeve was shredded.

“Fuck’s sake…Soren…” Ouro dropped to her knees beside him. He’d lost a lot of blood. “Fennorian, can’t you…” He was beside her before she could finish talking, gingerly taking hold of what remained of Soren’s arm.

“Werewolf, I take it?” He leaned close, examining.

“How’d you guess?” Soren replied wryly, through his teeth.

“Ouro, I need you to cut away more of the sleeve, and I should be able to stem the bleeding.” At once, Fenn was rifling through the leather pouch on his belt.

“I’m just about all out as it is.” Their patient’s breath was growing labored as Ouro did as instructed, grimacing a little at the torn flesh and muscle.

“Drink all of this.” Fenn held out his flask, which Soren weakly reached for. Neras stepped in and took it, kneeling at his Second’s other side. He uncorked it and held it to Soren’s lips. “The whole thing…till there’s not a drop left—it’s blood with an infusion of my own making. Essentially, after carefully distilling a mixture of…” Fenn stopped and cleared his throat. “Blood and medicine.”

The effects were immediate as the ravaged wound began slowly to knit itself together. He whispered words under his breath, and a golden glow emanated from Fennorian’s palms, which he held close to the arm, speeding the process up. The various visible cuts and bruises on Soren’s face vanished, and when Fenn sat back, breathing hard, the arm continued to heal, the flesh closing around the stump.

“ _You_ need blood, too.” Ouro prodded quietly, and he met her eyes, shrugging one shoulder.

“Yours will do once they’re all seen to.”

“What?” Soren frowned, having finished the flask.

“I’ll explain it some other time.” She assured him, and Fenn got to his feet. A shadow fell over them, though, as Lyris leaned over to look.

“Wouldn’t it have just grown back?” She craned her neck to better see.

“He’s a vampire, not a mudcrab.” Ouro glanced up at the half-giant.

“Well…how would _I_ know?”

“I would think the lack of pinchers might make it apparent.” Fennorian mimed crab claws then darted out of arm’s reach, but even Lyris couldn’t hide a little smirk. Soren laughed aloud but winced a little, then sat forward.

“Is there anything left of the others to retrieve?” Ouro asked then. It was a sobering question, and Soren wilted a little, shaking his head.

“Those Gray Host bastards…fucking _animals_ , all of them.” He sighed. “I think I can walk, help me up.” She got up and took his other arm as he struggled to rise for the first time without the use of his left. “This…this is not going to fun.”

“It’s not your sword arm, at least.”

“I take it everything went well topside?” He asked suddenly, and Ouro nodded.

“As well as could be expected. Savien took care of the king in time, casualties were minimized.”

“Good. It wasn’t for nothing then.”

It was over. The _immediate_ threat was, anyway. The entire problem with the Gray Host was not yet resolved, but Solitude at least was spared. There would be a reprieve, especially as Fennorian was needed at the Mages Guild to continue producing his miracle harrowstorm protection elixir, which would assist the other holds of Western Skyrim in their defense. Once he’d set up a couple large batches and left them in Mjolen’s trustworthy and knowledgeable hands to brew, Ouro and Fenn went home. Through sheer exhaustion, they’d managed to undress, bathe, and crawl into bed, asleep nearly the instant their heads met with the pillows.

The sharp pangs of hunger pulled Ouro from the depths of her slumber and to the surface of consciousness. She blinked slowly, noting that beside her, Fennorian had yet to make his way back to the land of the living. Judging by the intensity of her need for blood, she guessed they’d been asleep at least a day and a half. It wasn’t the first time she’d depleted her energy that way; in the past, there had been occasions where she’d slept nearly a week without waking.

Vampires who could walk in the sunlight unharmed required much less rest than those who couldn’t, and energy was expended more slowly than it was for the living. She could go weeks without sleep if the occasion called for it, and it had several times over her history, but the result was the deep, almost comatose sleep that stretched out for days on end. For as young and new as Fennorian was, this was undoubtedly his first experience.

He didn’t so much as flinch as she crawled over him to get out of bed. Times such as these were precisely why she kept bottles of blood stashed about the house and found a couple in the back of the wardrobe. She uncorked one and drank deeply, draining it completely, then set the other on the nightstand. Sated for the moment, she climbed back into bed, sinking into the soft mattress, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

It was delightfully warm, which had nothing to do with their bodies, of course, and everything to do with the enchantments she kept on the blankets. Simple pleasures like this were the things Ouro valued above all else. Being comfortable in her own bed, wrapped in softness, lying beside the person she loved. Though, that last bit was entirely new. She turned onto her side to look at him.

It was impossible not to smile, watching him sleep. Though it wasn’t a peaceful, idyllic image that he presented. All those silly love songs and stories about lovers looking like angels as they slept…anything based in reality would likely not have gotten very popular. Rather than a shining, picturesque vision of serenity, Fenn was a mess. His pillow had fallen off the edge of the bed, his head was back, mouth gaping. When he breathed, there was a very quiet snore that at least wasn’t disruptive. His hair was like a windblown bird’s nest…that had been trampled by a herd of goats. He wasn’t always like this, though; he was only this relaxed here, with her. Everywhere else, he slept tense, like a corpse in rigor, waking to even the slightest noise.

He shifted a little, and Ouro feigned sleep, lest she be caught mooning at him like a twitterpated adolescent. His whole body jerked suddenly, and he gasped, startling her. She blinked, staring in concern as he sat bolt upright, chest heaving. Apparently, despite his tranquil, albeit disheveled, appearance, it was not peaceful slumber after all.

“Are you alright?” She propped herself up on one elbow, and Fennorian looked down at her, appearing both startled and more than a little peckish.

“I…um…had a bad dream.” He rubbed his face, then stretched a little.

“A nightmare?” Ouro sat up, scooting closer, and he put his arm around her.

“Not like the usual ones.” He opened his mouth to go on, but his stomach made a loud complaint, and he looked down. “How long have we been asleep?”

“Somewhere around two days or so, I think. There’s a bottle there.”

“Oh…” Fenn looked where she’d pointed and nodded. The dream, whatever it was, had left him shaken, though.

“Is there some…new terror?” Ouro had meant to lighten the mood, but it was too serious a question, and he gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s alright, you don’t have to talk about it. You do need blood, though. You’re starting to get ravenous crazy eyes…”

“Do you dislike it when I drink _your_ blood?” His hungry gaze settled on her throat briefly before he looked instead at his lap. Ouro’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment as she parsed the unexpected question.

“I…you…” She shook her head. “I thought it was fairly obvious that the times you have, I’ve _enjoyed_ it a great deal.” The disturbed look on his face didn’t abate.

“I dreamed that I hurt you…that I fed on you and couldn’t stop…not unlike…before…” He trailed off, unwilling to relive that particular trauma yet again. It wasn’t a feeling she’d ever known; the restrictions she placed on herself were quite a bit looser than those the Ravenwatch abided by.

“I’m sorry you dreamed that; at least in wakefulness, you can feel certain that you cannot hurt me.” She also knew it wasn’t the sort of fear that words would allay.

“Yes, of course…I know that. It’s just still…unsettling.”

“I understand.” Ouro leaned up and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth. “I think also you’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.” Fenn was looking at her neck again, and she was sure he was about to ask, but he cleared his throat and turned toward the bottle, grabbing it up from where it sat. There was more bothering him than the dream, and it could only be one thing. “Fenn, I’m _not_ going back to the Riders.”

“ _How_ do you do that?”

“I’m quite old and rather observant, you know.” Ouro shrugged and smiled. “ _Is_ that what’s bothering you?”

“I also dreamed you went back, since Soren…was so badly injured.” Fenn uncorked the blood and took a long draught from it.

“Please, at least three of the Riders have a wooden leg, and two I know for certain have some sort of implement where a hand once was.” She scoffed. It would take a good deal more than a missing forearm to decommission a Blood Rider.

“I am glad to hear it.” Fidgeting, he closed one eye, looking down the neck of the bottle before casting another almost shy glance at her. “I mean…if it was what you _wanted_ …I certainly wouldn’t…”

“I know that…and it’s _not_ what I want. I’ve been around too long to bother issuing hollow reassurances.” Ouro watched as he finished the bottle in one fell swoop. “Better?”

“Much.” Fenn set the empty container down on the floor then wriggled back down under the covers, pulling her down with him. Happily, she let him curl around her, pressed against her back. “I wish we could just stay this way and never have to get up.” His words hummed against her hair.

“That does sound enticing, but I know how curious your mind is.” She grinned to herself, holding onto his arms as they tightened around her. “You’re not the sort who could stay in bed forever.”

“Well, you don’t know that. There are all manner of things my mind can be curious about from right here.” One large hand slid stealthily upward, taking hold of her breast.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” There was little question of just where this was headed, and Ouro pressed her backside more tightly against him, hearing his breath catch ever so slightly. He kissed her neck.

“With as difficult as it is to think with you rubbing up against me like that, I’m not sure I’ve got the capacity to wonder about more than what you feel like.” He breathed.

“You’re more than welcome to sate your curiosity.” She twisted back a little, and his mouth found hers. The hand on her breast stayed put, but his other descended merrily, slipping between her legs. A shiver of pleasure snaked through her as one finger slid along the wet seam, gently stroking then lazily moving in a little circle, urging her along. His fangs grazed her neck and shoulder as his lips brushed across her skin, then the thick, teasing digit plunged between her folds, and she inhaled sharply. Fenn bit her lightly, only enough for a little blood to well up before the tiny punctures healed, but his tongue sought every drop.

“Perhaps I…ought to have…” He hesitated.

“No, I want you to do as you like. Nothing’s off-limits right now.” She panted. Her body had gone from warm, contented comfort to potent arousal in mere moments. His hips pressed forward as she writhed against him, his hand working her intently.

Ouro rolled forward onto her stomach and parted her thighs in invitation. When she looked over at Fennorian, his eyes were round as saucers, and he swallowed audibly. Until this point, their lovemaking had been face to face, intimate. But this was an intimacy of a different sort, one that took trust and was fueled by a more animalistic desire.

He moved behind her, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence, but then she felt his fingertips trailing up her calves and thighs.

“Are you alright?” Ouro wondered if perhaps he didn’t find this particular position exciting, or if he was uncertain what exactly she was inviting him to do. Technically, there _were_ options back there. She looked back over her shoulder just as he took hold of her ass with both hands. The awe on his face and the dark, hungry look in his eyes was reassurance enough that he was plenty excited.

“Y-yes…” He was taking deep breaths, and she reminded herself of his fixation on her broad backside. Indeed, he was probably more than alright. He squeezed briefly, mouth hanging open before taking her by the hips and pulling her farther up so that she needed to get on her elbows. “…quite nice…very…lovely…” It was unclear if he was murmuring to himself or to her, and Ouro didn’t care so long as he did something… _anything_ …soon. “And you like this? From behind?”

“Yes.” She gave a quiet laugh. “Do you?”

“I’m about to find out.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Though…in theory, I think yes, very much.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

“I am…I’ve…well, I’ve never seen you from this angle; it’s…shocking and wonderful all at once.” He let out a shuddering breath, eyes moving over her naked form from neck to backside.

“Oh, Fennorian.” Ouro laughed again, shaking her head. “Truly, the awe that accompanies male inexperience is highly underrated.”

“What?” He looked up at her face as she peered back at him again.

“Nothing, I just…” She stopped as she felt him pressing against her, then he slipped inside. Fenn groaned an astonished sort of noise, pressing as deep as he could, leaving her breathless.

He went torturously slow, a scholar in bed as well as everywhere else, seeking to experience every sensation…to understand it, to revel in it. Usually, this was an absolute delight, to _not_ be rushed or dragged along as completion was chased as quickly as possible. But, when all Ouro wanted was to be taken over by him, every stroke was maddening, tightening that coil tighter inside her so that she shook with the effort to stay relatively still.

“Fennorian, _please_ …” It wasn’t like her to beg; in fact, she couldn’t remember a time she ever had. The words had come out unbidden, but it was better than flipping over and putting him on his back till he thought his heart might explode. Well, maybe.

“Too slow?” He asked, voice a little shaky, but a clear note of smugness.

“Are you tormenting me on _purpose?_ ” She gaped.

“Not…entirely…” He leaned forward, one arm around her middle and kissed her ear, but took hold of the headboard with the other. Her brain lost the ability to make words as she imagined what he might do with that kind of leverage. Some concussions were worth having.

Fennorian untethered himself from what restraint he had left, and Ouro gave a shocked cry as he drove into her. Where had the babbling, awkward scholar gone? The one who turned crimson when she’d tease him, who was baffled and speechless when she touched him. When his clothes came off, so, too, did his uncertainty. He’d lavished her with his unquestioning trust because she’d never treated him as an oddity. His faith in her was her most treasured possession.

His enjoyment echoed through the house, and Ouro freely allowed her body to be blissfully overwhelmed. When the spasm trickled away, she’d lost the strength to stay on her knees, and together they collapsed forward, breathing hard. Fenn withdrew, carefully turning her onto her back before gently coming into her again. She blinked dazedly up at him, intending to ask him why, but words weren’t back yet. She wore the question on her face anyway.

“I want to look at you.” He kissed her, hips rocking gently into her. “You feel incredible, of course, but…” He brushed back a damp lock that clung to her cheek. “I want to see your eyes when…you must know that I…”

“Yes.” Ouro pulled him down, finding his lips. He was close and broke away from the kiss, groaning, moving faster. His face was buried against her neck, the sound of his breathing nearly undoing her, but she gripped his backside with both hands, pulling him into her until, with a long, gasping cry, he poured himself into her, shaking.

By the time they managed to rise, bathe, and dress, it seemed another day would have passed, Ouro thought. She was contentedly and sleepily lying against Fenn as he stretched out, one arm under his head and the other tracing symbols against her bare hip. Her own fingers were idly moving about his stomach, and she was glad he couldn’t see the stupid smile still stuck to her face. Lightly her index finger traced the line of hair that led from his navel to his groin. It was soft, as were the curls it met up with.

“Do you mind it terribly?” He asked suddenly.

“Mind what?”

“That I’m hairy.”

“Hairy?” Ouro pushed herself up to look at him. “You’ve got maybe three hairs on your chest in total, and the rest is on your head and _here_. That is _not_ hairy.” She chuckled a little. “I wouldn’t mind it if you were. I like your hair. All of it.” He wore a silly grin, and she settled back down beside him, letting out a long breath, more than ready for a bit of a nap after their rigorous activities.

“I like yours, too.” He murmured. Ouro gave a snort. “All of it.” Her cheeks felt hot suddenly, though she wasn’t sure why, but just shook her head and pressed a kiss to his chest.

“I can’t think why in Oblivion you’d be concerned that I’d…” A knock and the bedchamber door opening stopped her, and Fenn jerked, yanking the covers up. Ouro looked up as Brynn entered, unphased by their nakedness, a letter in hand.

“Apologies.” There was a small hint of amusement in her eye as Fenn sought to ensure both of them were decently covered.

“Thank you, Brynn.” Ouro took the letter, and the housekeeper left, closing the door behind her. She sat up, glancing at the questions all over Fennorian’s face. “There are certain circumstances in which Brynn has been instructed to interrupt no matter what.” She sighed, though, and began preparing herself for the worst as she peeled back the seal of her mother’s caretaker.


	25. Lucid

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Ouro stepped through the portal into the dense, Hjaalmarch forest, and Fenn, clutching her hand, stumbled through after her. Letting go, he bent over and wheezed for a bit, hands braced on his knees. That _was_ the typical response most had the first time they used one of her portals. They tended to be a bit more jarring than most others due to the nature of her magic.

“Are you alright?” She asked. He made a noncommittal noise.

“I…have questions.”

“I’d be more concerned if you didn’t.” Ouro put a hand on his shoulder, and after a couple more deep breaths, he stood up. “Alright?”

“I think so.” He tugged grumpily at his sleeve. The leathers were new, or as he had put it: very, _very_ interim. His had been sent to Ouro’s preferred armorer for mending following the fight in Solitude. He squirmed, adjusting for the oft reiterated complaints of itchiness and discomfort.

“It’s just this way a bit.”

“Out _here_ is where your other home is, then?” Fenn followed her as she started down a narrow path through the trees.

“Mmhm… and one of its finer qualities is the difficulty of finding it.”

“So,” Fennorian matched step beside her, rolling his shoulders and trying to hide a grimace. Ouro didn’t blame him for being displeased with the temporary attire; on such short notice, getting anything his size was a feat all its own. “You said the letter indicated your mother is _lucid_?”

“Yes.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out the folded parchment, and handed it to him. He hesitated only very briefly, thankfully forgoing the discussion that would inevitably end with the reaffirmation of _I-handed-it-to-you-so-yes-you-have-permission-to-read-my-private-letter_. He half murmured the words as he read, paying no attention to where he was going. Tsking, Ouro quickly tugged him away from the tree directly in his path.

“…lucid these last _sixteen_ days without interruption or any episodes…” He peered down at her, looking as surprised as she felt. “That’s highly unusual given the circumstances you’ve described to me before.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Though you did say there _were_ periods where she came out of it in the past.”

“When I was a child, yes. She would have a day here and there when she seemed almost…normal. Whatever _normal_ is. It grew more infrequent and then not at all for the last three hundred years.” Her guts were churning, and it was difficult to remain composed. Her poor mother…she’d never asked to be a vampire; she’d never asked for the wretched existence she had. It was like a knife to the heart every time Ouro thought of her trapped inside a maze of madness for _so_ long. “Two uninterrupted weeks is completely unprecedented.”

“How could…” Fenn looked at the letter, squinting at the scribbled signature. “…Evelyn…?”

“Evelrine.”

“Questionable handwriting…how could this _Evelrine_ person…not send for you sooner?” He gave an indignant tsk, scanning the body of the letter once again.

“Because hope is dangerous. Evelrine and the other Wyrd have been taking care of my mother for centuries. Protocol has always been in place in the event of suspect behavior.” She’d never had to explain it before, but then, no one with a mind as hungry as Fennorian’s had ever been allowed to know. Her mother’s caretakers simply didn’t question her.

“I can understand the sentiment, of course, and having protocol is prudent…” He gasped suddenly. “Did…did you say _Wyrd?_ As in witches? A coven?” Fennorian spluttered. “That explains the handwriting; the Wyrd don’t pay much credence to the common writing systems.” Ouro rolled her eyes. “I’d meant to ask about it when you told Lyris your mother was a Wyress, and…well, things got a bit busy.”

“A bit.” She gave a snort. “Before Chivisu took her, my mother had just taken her place at the head of her coven. The youngest ever. Her absence left them in tatters, and by the time I was free and sought them out, there were fewer than ten of them left. My great-niece was leading them as best she could. I’ve helped them, so they’ve helped me, and Evelrine is kin. When they were facing violent persecution in Glenumbra, I brought them here, and that’s where they’ve remained. For their safety and the sake of peace, only people like Mjolen know they’re here.” Up ahead, Ouro spotted a small plume of smoke rising from the Wyrd campfire. “The Nords would lose their minds if they knew a coven of witches was out here. _Especially_ in light of current events. For many of them, a witch is a witch is a witch.”

“Are they…going to be bothered by my presence?” Fennorian asked, a little hesitant.

She frowned up at him. “My mother’s a vampire who _lives_ with them; why would they care?” It was an odd question for him to ask, all things considered.

“No, because I’m male.” He clarified.

“Ah. I see you’ve fallen prey to propaganda.” It was a misconception about the Wyrd she’d heard time and again.

“I like to think I’m fairly adept at ferreting out whether or not something is _propaganda_ , Ouro…”

“Just because there aren’t men in the coven doesn’t mean anything with a penis is shunned.”

“I understand. Good. I mean…there’s no harm in being _sure_ of such things…” He straightened his jacket, fidgeting with it some more, but stopped abruptly, peering closer at her face. He’d noticed the worried look that she didn’t school in time. _Damn it_. Fenn rested his hands on her shoulders. “There will come a time, I think…I _hope_ …when it’s much harder for you to hide your feelings from me.” That time seemed to be coming sooner than either of them might have anticipated.

“I didn’t want to alarm you.” She muttered, gaze fixed on a buckle on his chest rather than his eyes.

“I’m not as proficient at the mind-reading trick as you are, but I can give it my best.” He tilted her chin up, and the sweet, genuine concern on his face nearly cost Ouro what remained of her composure. “You’re worried Tesgrim has something to do with it, that he might hurt your mother or try to use her against you.” He gave a nod.

“Yes, of _course_ , I am.” She whispered, blinking back the prickling that threatened in her eyes. “I don’t know what he’s unearthed about all of this or what he plans to do. I worry for her _and_ for you…that he might…” She shook her head, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

“I had wondered the same, and I am still wary…this _could_ be a trap.”

“I’ve been telling myself that there’s no way he could have found her.” Despite her agitation and impatience to figure out what exactly was happening, Ouro leaned against Fennorian. It was unusual to take comfort from someone this way, and it probably would be for quite some time to come. But she was glad she could count on him to shore her up when she felt like coming apart. Thinking about where she might be had he never written her those letters in the first place made her stomach flip again.

“I wish I could tell you that it will be okay, that nothing evil will come from any of this. But, unfortunately, after everything that’s gone on, I’m disinclined to put forth such suppositions without proper, documented evidence.” His lips brushed lightly against her hair as he brought her in closer. “By clinging so ardently to facts and logic, my ruthless pragmatism makes me especially ill-equipped for cheering-up, I’m afraid.” She felt him smile against her. It wasn’t necessarily relief that Ouro felt, but things seemed a _little_ less heavy.

“Well, I will gratefully take realistic uncertainty over you trying to blow smoke up my backside.”

Fenn straightened up, not missing a beat. “I can say with total confidence that that’s not any of the things I want to do to your backside.”

Ouro gaped for a moment and was rewarded with both an impish smirk and a lovely blush that bloomed across his cheeks.

“You’re about to meet my _mother_ , you swine.” The unexpected grin that split her face was no doubt what Fenn had been aiming for, and he looked rather pleased with himself.

“I hadn’t thought about that.” His brows drew together. They started toward the coven’s camp. “Do you think she’ll like me?”

“Fennorian, I don’t know if she’s even going to like _me_.” As she glanced up at him, he let out a snort of poorly stifled laughter.

“I apologize…that wasn’t meant to be funny…”

“Well…maybe a little.” Only he seemed able to reach into the shadows of her secret melancholy and pull forth laughter. From the very beginning, Fennorian was an unwitting light that burned away the suffocating gray, illuminating the hues of her warmth and humanity. What she feared more than almost anything else was having to live in darkness once more.

* * *

.

* * *

Fennorian had seen his fair share of rustic camps in forests, most of which had been populated with highly questionable individuals, especially lately. The differences between the Glenmoril Wyrd and the Reach witches were amazingly few, though to say as much to either would not be wise. 

No one in this particular location looked even the slightest bit surprised as he and Ouro approached. One or two, in fact, appeared somewhat relieved. They’d barely crossed the threshold when a woman stood up from the bonfire that burned at the center, surrounded by huts. She bore an uncanny resemblance to Ouro, or rather, Ouro resembled her…as this was, undoubtedly, her mother. However, unlike her daughter, she was slight of build and had very long and unruly light brown hair. Her eyes were bright red, and in them, Fennorian saw not a trace of madness as she gave him a thorough inspection.

“You see?” She called, half over her shoulder, striding forward. “I _told_ you she would bring him.” She halted, fists on her hips, looking very much about to demand an explanation. At the moment, Fennorian wanted to know how she knew anything about him. It was a safe assumption that Ouro wasn’t sending any informative letters detailing all her most recent activities.

“Hello, mother…” Ouro peered past the diminutive but formidable woman at one of the others. The Wyress who met her gaze, perhaps Evelrine, merely shook her head, as baffled by it all as everyone else apparently was.

“Don’t be _shy_ , Ouro. Introductions.” Her mother gestured vaguely at Fennorian but examined her daughter every bit as closely as she had him. He was undeniably fascinated by the fact that despite knowing her mother for centuries, they were strangers.

“This is Fennorian, of House Ravenwatch. Fenn, this is my mother, Edalie Aduen.”

He gave a polite smile. “It is an honor to meet y—”

“He’s good-looking, at least. For an elf.” Edalie, who was shorter than Ouro, grabbed the strap on Fenn’s chest and yanked him downward to look her in the eye. He wobbled and nearly toppled over, eyes wide and startled. “And he loves you, Ouro. Good. Younger than I might have expected, but an improvement, nevertheless. Not that the bar was set _terribly_ high.” She let go of him and brushed her hands off. Fennorian began the unpleasant business of attempting to make subtle adjustments as the damnable armor was scratchy all over again. He’d have loved nothing more than to strip it off and fling it into the sea.

Ouro was about ready to come unglued, though, shifting from foot to foot, wringing her hands, and it was troubling to see her that way. “Mother, what… _happened_?” She cast wary looks at the audience that had gathered. Fennorian couldn’t even imagine what she was experiencing, the sheer madness of it all. “Do you remember anything?”

“Anything?” Edalie gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Child, I remember _everything_. Sitting inside that barrier… _centuries_ of clawing at it and wearing it down. No spell lasts forever.”

“Spell?” Ouro stared dumbly. Fennorian tried to keep his fidgeting to a minimum. For distraction, he took stock of what the camp had and what it lacked. Really it was less of a camp and more of a ramshackle shanty village. Though, he reminded himself of just how narrow the lens that he observed the world through was sometimes. Often that was how he forced himself to see more, to learn more, and accept things different from himself. It was something that separated him from most other Altmer.

“Yes, _spell_.” Edalie made a small, exasperated sound. “Goodness, didn’t you _know_? Of course, you didn’t.” She softened and took then patted Ouro’s hand. “You killed them all before you could ask, but that isn’t your fault. I would have done the same in your place.” The barely contained horror in Ouro’s eyes clearly indicated that she believed it was her fault, and Fennorian bit his tongue. His opinions on more careful word choice weren’t warranted _or_ welcome at this particular moment.

“So…now you’re…just…?” Ouro’s face contorted in confusion.

“I am myself. Why do you look so shocked? Did you think I was a timid, cowed little girl? I wasn’t chosen for my weak will and obedience. He…” Edalie stifled a grimace. “He sought _strong_ women. You know, since all the weak ones kept _dying_.” The words seemed a tad harsh for referring to one’s fellow victims, but as Fennorian watched closely, he saw Edalie had the same tells as Ouro did when her emotions were heightened. She blinked rapidly, looking at various things around them, at anything but her daughter, while she quickly reined in what threatened to spill over.

Like mother like daughter: neither of them would say or do what they wanted whilst being observed by a few dozen onlookers. He just needed a subtle way to go about making the suggestion.

“Begging your pardon…” He quietly interrupted. “Given the circumstances, perhaps the two of you might prefer to discuss things in a more private and less…observable…place…” Ouro nodded quickly.

“Right…yes…no use standing here being a spectacle.” She cleared her throat, and Edalie smiled up at him.

“Clever boy.” Lightly, she touched Ouro’s arm, who, unsurprisingly, flinched, then murmured an apology. Fennorian let his hand rest on her back briefly and felt some of the tension leave her. “We can talk in my lodge.” Her mother pointed across the way.

Fennorian stepped aside, but Edalie grabbed his sleeve, pulling him along. “ _You_ , too. You’re here for a reason.”

Edalie might have appeared perfectly sane now, but her lodge was very clearly the home of someone walking a twisted maze departed from reality. There were strange little heaps of collected things—stones, twigs, bits of leaf, shells, several dolls, copious nonsensical scribblings on parchment and, well, any surface one could put a piece of charcoal to.

“I know, it’s chaos. I’ve been cleaning it up; this is quite an improvement, believe it or not.” Edalie told him. At once, Fennorian looked at Ouro, who was suddenly very interested in a bit of twig on the table. So, _that_ skill was an _inherited_ one, apparently.

“Mother, I…” All the air left Ouro’s lungs as Edalie gripped her in a rib-crushing embrace.

“My _daughter_ …”

The women clung to one another for a long time, and Fennorian turned away when he heard the small sob escape his…his what? Lover? The connotations of that word often were associated with relationships that were primarily physical and casual, and that _certainly_ didn’t apply to what was between them. How did one refer to their unmarried person of import? Significant bedfellow? Goodness, no. Partner? Female companion? Eugh, no, definitely not. Perhaps just companion…? He pushed the deliberation from his thoughts.

Ouro’s eyes squeezed shut as she pushed back against the surge of emotion. He’d heard her cry only that one other time, and even to think of it, he could hardly keep from weeping himself. The urge to gather her up in his arms and find some way to make up for so many lifetimes of heartache was powerful. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t caused her pain; he just wanted to make it go away.

Fennorian wasn’t particularly religious, but he silently beseeched whatever powers that be who might be listening not to take away the only family Ouro had left. Not again. She needed to have some peace, and gods, how he wanted a peaceful life with her. One where the most strenuous things they might face were periodic roving packs of feral vampires or deciding who to have for dinner. Such contentment seemed a far-off fantasy.

He was happy to quietly watch the reunion between mother and daughter; it meant a great deal that they’d welcomed him at all to be part of it. Ouro had grown very important to him, and he felt closer to her than anyone before. Nevertheless, there was still so much he didn’t know. Finding some peace after the chaos subsided would absolutely provide the opportunity for him to inquire more.

“You hardly know me, Ouro, I know…” Edalie stepped back. Her brash façade had slipped as she wilted a little. “…no matter how much time’s gone by. I was kept from you and could only watch.”

“I would tear Chivisu apart all over again if I could.” Ouro’s eyes were fixed on her mother, as though she might vanish if she looked away. “There’s no use in weeping for the lost years; wishes won’t change anything…I’m grateful that at least for now, we have whatever time we have.”

“You don’t think this is permanent.” Edalie’s brows drew together. She might have been a stranger to her daughter, but she’d spent more than six hundred years watching and learning about Ouro. “I assure you, _I_ tore myself free…”

“We don’t know that. Tesgrim…” Ouro stopped and looked at Fennorian for a moment. He wished he really could see inside her sometimes. She was guarded and struggled to speak her deepest desires for her life…for _their_ life together. “I thought this might be because of him.” She looked back to her mother and sat down on a stool. “You probably saw him for what he was from the first day he appeared.”

“I did,” Edalie whispered. “From inside my own mind, I feared every time I saw you would be the last, that he’d be the end of you.”

“Not yet. He’s abandoned the Riders altogether, and gone gods know where. I just need it to be over.”

“I agree. Were it not for him, your daughter might have…”

“ _Don’t_.” Ouro surged to her feet quickly enough that Fennorian thought she would bolt straight out of the lodge. Edalie whipped around to look at him.

“He doesn’t know?”

“I do know.” He spoke up, and Edalie’s mouth dropped open, turning from him to Ouro in a brief moment of stunned silence.

“What else have you told him?”

“I’ve kept nothing from him.” Ouro watched Fennorian, something in the way she was looking at him that he couldn’t quite figure out. It was as if she was perhaps surprised by the fact that she’d opened herself to him—the difficulties with feelings aside.

“Good, then this is real. You shouldn’t be wasting your time here with me. We can get to know one another better when that beast has been taken care of. Evelrine has explained to me some of what’s been going on with those barbarians from the Reach. Giving the rest of us a bad name.” Edalie scoffed. “If there is a way for us to help, we will. He’s like you, though. And old. You’re not going to be able to get close enough to just cut his head off.”

“I am aware.” Ouro sighed. “He must think he’s won, and then he may drop his guard.”

“How will you do that?”

“At great cost, I imagine.”

* * *

The darkness beneath the trees wrapped around Fennorian and Ouro like a cloak as they walked. Night had fallen, and he had no idea where they were, somewhere in the hills of Hjaalmarch. Doubt coursed through him regarding Edalie’s sudden, inexplicable recovery from centuries of madness, but for tonight, he wasn’t going to press the matter. It’d been stressful enough for Ouro just dealing with the fact her mother was lucid at all.

He felt her hand slip into his and intertwined their fingers. There was light in the distance, coming from what he assumed was the home she had out here that had been little more than vaguely alluded to.

“Have you heard much from the Ravenwatch?” Ouro turned down a path with no discernable marker, and Fennorian followed.

“Gwendis is gathering more information on the Gray Host; she had some sort of lead she refused to divulge. Though, I _can_ appreciate the desire to be certain of something before sharing. Adusa…I’m not sure. She’d still recovering from her own run-in with the Gray Host. I offered to listen if she needed but, well…” He trailed off.

“I’m sure she will talk when she’s ready.” Ouro gave his hand a squeeze.

“Aside from that, there aren’t really any actionable hunches any of us can go on. I’ll be researching what breadcrumbs we’ve got while I await my next assignment.”

“Lucky for you, then, that I live in a library.”

“In Solitude?” He’d combed through Ouro’s collection already, and while there were some useful bits and pieces, he needed access to more.

“No, this one is much, much bigger. _All_ my books live here.” They halted beside a creek, standing at the top of a waterfall. Below was a large house with warm light coming from the windows. “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

“Ever?” It touched Fennorian that the things she’d barred everyone else from were open to him. Her home, her heart.

“Ever.” She affirmed. “It’s strange. I’m actually…excited for you to see it.”

“Really?” He certainly hadn’t expected that.

“Yes, really. What _have_ you done to me, Fennorian?” Chuckling, she pulled him toward the path that led down to the house.

“I’m not sure my answer to that is appropriate for polite conversation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters that come after this one will contain content from Markarth, but I will put spoiler warnings at the start of the chapters for those who haven't completed the quests and such yet. :)


	26. The Reach **MARKARTH PROLOGUE SPOILERS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **SPOILER WARNING**  
> There is information in this chapter pertaining to the Markarth prologue quest as well as certain things surrounding a side quest with Lyris.

The fire crackled merrily in the quiet night, interrupted only periodically by a cricket or two. While the Reach was never particularly safe for the willy-nilly camping of wandering travelers, things had been especially perilous as of late. Roving Gray Host vampires were scouring the hills and crags for anyone flouting Ard Caddach’s demand that everyone come safely inside the walls of Markarth. Ouro had killed at least a couple dozen of them already. Untrained and inexperienced, it was clear these fools were the result of hasty attempts to replenish the Gray Host ranks.

With Lyris having disappeared early that morning to take care of her very important and oddly undisclosed errands, there was no need to put forth the effort to disguise the scent of a mortal at their little camp. Sleep eluded Ouro, no matter how still she lay, focusing on the comforting sound of the fire. Also, Fennorian was watching her. He was discreet about it, but she knew; she could feel it. It wasn’t bothersome or strange; she, too, had spent her fair share of time beside him simply admiring him as he slept. The strange part was that she never got bored of it.

The glorious, uninterrupted time they’d spent hidden away at Ouro’s house in Hjaalmarch had begun as exciting and novel…and…magnificently relentless. Unsurprisingly, less time was spent on combing through her massive library than on just about any surface in their general vicinity. As this was largely uncharted territory for both of them, it gradually became a learning experience about sharing space with someone.

The addition of another person to what had once been a primarily solitary existence was a jarring transition, not for the faint of heart. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant by any means, but the weeks following the Harrowstorm in Solitude had been challenging all their own. Ouro had never learned to _be_ with someone for more than several days, and in the span of a few short months, all the neat, orderly ways she went about dealing with other people had been upended and thrown into disarray.

From one minute to the next, every breath was a contradiction between the chaos and unpredictability of her emotions to her absolute certainty of them. It made no sense to her how she could be so sure that she wanted to be with Fennorian, loved him, and would do whatever she must to ensure his happiness and wellbeing, but was terrified and resisting the urge to flee all at the same time.

His habit of disappearing into his own head while he focused on research or study worked very well with her propensity to withdraw and take time to reorder and center herself. Once they’d begun this little jaunt across the Reach in search of Gray Host activity, Lyris’s presence acted as a convenient buffer in some ways. Though, the downside to that was Fenn’s discomfort with the idea of partaking in intimate activities that might be overheard. Perhaps someday he might not care so much about something that trivial, but until then, it was what it was. And thus, two weeks of maddening abstinence had elapsed.

The longing for physical gratification aside, it was those intimacies where they were close and touched that made it easier to be open in other ways. With chaperone Titanborn unwittingly on chastity duty, there was barely enough time for so much as a stolen kiss, let alone heartfelt discussions to grow the trust and affection that was still tender and new.

Beside Ouro on the lumpy bedrolls they’d dragged together, Fennorian shifted restlessly, then sat up and gently touched her arm.

“Hm?” She opened her eyes to find a worried look on his face. “What’s the matter?”

“Well…I suppose I had meant to ask the same thing.” His half-unbuttoned shirt slipped down one shoulder, and he quickly pulled it up, but her eyes lingered anyway. Gods, it had been too long. Once upon a time, the span of a fortnight was nothing at all, mere moments in the grand temporal scheme of things. Despite wanting to reassure him, Ouro wasn’t sure what to say. “This is the first night we’ve had alone together since…” He thought back. “A while. I’d thought…well, I mean…is there…” It was fairly apparent what he was getting at, but in the interest of improving communication, she refrained from jumping up, stripping down, and then throwing herself at him. Fenn ran his hand back through his hair, cheeks pink. “Did we become…un-used to each other?”

“That might be part of it, perhaps.” Ouro pushed herself up to sit cross-legged.

“Part?” His concern multiplied exponentially, and she panicked a little internally, thinking quickly how best to allay the anxiety.

“With Lyris around…and I…well, neither of us is particularly keen on…overtly…public expressions of…things…”

“True.” Fenn visibly relaxed. “It’s just that…outside of our discussions regarding our business here in the Reach, we’ve spoken relatively little, and…”

“That’s probably my fault, I suppose.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. “In Solitude, there was Blackreach and the Harrowstorms, and…all of that which held our attention. In Hjaalmarch, well, it was…it…we…it was the…” Absently, she gestured at his lap.

“Sex?” He offered.

Ouro nodded. “Yes…then the buffer was research, then travel, then Lyris…”

“And now there’s nothing. What is it that needs a buffer, though?” His eyes were wide and so blue. The tinge of red was barely visible as he’d been keeping well fed.

“I’m not sure I even know…perhaps I had hoped to shield you from my interpersonal ineptitude.” The last thing she wanted was to inadvertently make Fennorian feel like there was anything amiss between them, especially when she knew it was her own failings that were causing whatever unrest there might be.

“You’re not _inept_ at much of anything from what I can tell.”

“Perhaps I hide it well, but I don’t know how to be a…partner, or what I need to do…” The look on his face morphed swiftly from attentive listening to the way one might look at an insane person babbling nonsense. She squirmed under the confused scrutiny.

“Ouro, I know your ability to judge time might have become a little impaired over the centuries, but I’m fairly confident that your memory is just fine.” His frown deepened. “Loathe as I am to relive the darker portions of our first few weeks together, I will rehash it if necessary as I think all the things that happened serve as fine examples of precisely what it is to be a partner.”

“I…well, that was…all under dire circumstances…”

“All the better, wouldn’t you say?”

“Isn’t that…different?” She felt a bit silly. Perhaps she truly was a moron emotionally.

“I don’t see how.” Fenn shrugged. “And here I thought _I_ was the one with the penchant for over-thinking.” He took her hand. “I know you’ve got more on your mind than all the tracking we’ve been doing of the Gray Host. I don’t want you to feel as though you must bear it alone.”

“Yes, I know…I just wasn’t keen on Lyris knowing about those things. She doesn’t trust easily as it is and certainly can’t understand vampire troubles.” Ouro exhaled a long sigh.

“You’re in luck.” He smiled suddenly.

“Hm?”

“I just _happen_ to be a vampire. Fully equipped to understand such troubles and even those of mortals still. I haven’t forgotten yet what it was like to be alive. That takes, what, at least two or three centuries?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She shrugged.

“Oh. Right.” He cleared his throat and then gave her hand a squeeze. “If there’s anything about the Riders, or Tesgrim or anything…if it will help, I will listen. I won’t even try to solve anything unless you ask me to.” At that, she finally smiled but shook her head.

“I know that. Though, right now, I’m not much in the mood for conversation.” There’d been nothing but talking for weeks; they were well overdue to _not_ talk.

“Oh.” Fenn nodded, then his eyes widened. “ _Oh_.” Impulsively, he plucked her out of her bedroll and sat her astride him but pouted just a little. “You’re still dressed.” Ouro was in her shirt and leggings.

“Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to rip my leathers off the instant I’m able…”

“Mine _still_ itch!”

“ _Usually_ , when out like this, I leave _everything_ on when I sleep. Generally, it’s safer to remain clothed.”

“No matter.” He lightly pressed a kiss to the side of her mouth. “It’s easily remedied.” His lips moved along her jaw and found her neck, sending chills and bolts of pleasure shooting down her spine. Stealthily, Fennorian pulled the tie at the laces of her fly, then his hands slid to her waist before slipping his fingers beneath the leather, getting two substantial handfuls of her backside.

In an instant, Ouro was on her back, and he’d relieved her of the trousers with more finesse than she’d have ever expected from him. The desire that had been neatly tucking away and forcibly ignored for the last weeks broke through the dam, and she reached between his legs. Fenn caught her wrist, though, before she could find him.

“I want to just kiss you for a while.” He murmured, lips close to hers, and she closed what little gap there was. Whatever apprehension there might have been after two weeks of barely touching one another, it fled. She wrapped her arms around him, open and willing, hoping he could feel what she did since articulating it wasn’t working.

His lips were soft but insistent, and it wasn’t even remotely surprising when his self-professed unshakable self-control was already slipping as he deepened the kiss. Ouro’s body responded in kind when his hips pressed into hers, and the tremble threading through him told her clear enough that there wouldn’t be much dilly-dallying, which was fine by her.

With a hand under one cheek, Fennorian pulled her up against him, his breath catching, intentions of languid lovemaking beside the fire rapidly unraveling.

“So, how long is the while you’re going to spend just kissing me?” Ouro couldn’t help herself and grinned against his lips. He chuckled, though.

“Tonight? Approximately twelve seconds…” He pulled back and sat up, kneeling between her splayed legs, fumbling with her shirt buttons but managed to get them open before pulling off his own. He wasted no time, coming down again to kiss her and guided himself to her. He closed his eyes, letting out a long groan as he sank into her flesh. Her breath came fast, and she wrapped her legs around him as he thrust with the inconsistent urgency that came from deprivation. Not minding in the slightest, Ouro blissfully rode it out, teetering on the edge already. Fenn reigned himself in, though, slowing and kissing her briefly. Her lips brushed along his throat, and she paused in question, her tongue tracing the artery lightly. It was still overwhelming for her to drink from him, but the occasion called for it.

“Yes.” He panted, and without hesitation, Ouro sank her teeth into him. Fenn cried out in that precarious balance between pain and pleasure, and his hips jerked, involuntarily pressing deeper into her. Gods, how she loved the sounds he made and closed her eyes as she squeezed around him with a flood of pleasure. His heartbeat in her mouth amplified it, and the world fell away.

But there was another sound, one that some part of her brain still told her she should be aware of.

“GET BACK YOU…oh no… _eugh_!” The booming shout devolved into an unintelligible, shocked exclamation.

Survival came first, and Ouro shoved Fenn off of her, crouching and shielding him with a shimmering blade in her hand in an instant. Staring down at them was a thoroughly disturbed Lyris, whose pale, Nordic complexion was very beet red. Ouro clutched her shirt closed as Fenn dragged a blanket over himself, still breathing hard.

“Weren’t your errands supposed to take you _days?_ ” Ouro demanded.

“I said they _could_ take days.” Lyris looked anywhere but at the two of them. What was already a less than pleasant ordeal worsened tenfold as Lyris was joined by a large, bearded Redguard and a tiny Breton vampire.

“Would it be alright if we had just _one_ bloody minute? Hm?” Ouro glared at all three, noting that Melina looked particularly aghast as she stared at Fennorian. The Redguard took the little Breton by the shoulders and led her away, and Lyris, making some sort of apologetic noises, followed. “Are you alright?” Ouro turned to Fenn, who looked abashed but not as horrifically mortified as she might have expected.

“Yes…aside from the obvious.” He muttered, shifting uncomfortably. His neck had healed, but there was still blood on his skin, and she could taste him on her lips. “It’s not the first time that’s happened.”

“ _Really_?” She grabbed her leggings and started pulling them on. “That’s kind of surprising.” Not to mention amusing.

“At least this time, no one’s father is trying to chase me down and beat me.” He chuckled quietly, donning his own clothes. “It hadn’t been my idea, but…well, I was of the age where…I was curious.”

“I imagine that was fairly frustrating.”

“ _Much_ less so than this time.” There was still a glint in his eyes as neither of them had achieved the sought-after satisfaction. He reached out, wiping the side of her mouth with his thumb. Grabbing him by the wrist, Ouro put his thumb in her mouth, sucking off the blood, and his jaw dropped open. “That is…infinitely unhelpful…” He breathed.

“I know.” She shrugged one shoulder and finished dressing. “You can come back now.” She called into the darkness. Irritated muttering started moving closer until the invasive trio reappeared in the firelight, still looking well and truly uncomfortable.

“Sorry. I guess I should have made our approach a little more noticeable.” Lyris cleared her throat.

“It could have been worse.” Ouro shrugged, and determined to change the subject, gestured toward the other _guests_. “I suppose your Redguard friend here is why you had to depart so abruptly earlier?”

“Yes, this is Sai Sahan. Sai, this is Ouro and Fenn.” Lyris gestured toward them, still not keen on making too much eye contact.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Sai Sahan. It’s an honor to meet you.” Ouro smiled, and he gave a deep nod.

“When Lyris told me she had been traveling with vampires, I was shocked, I admit. When she said your name, I knew she was in no danger.” His voice was deep, and his beard enveloped so much of his face that it was as though his mouth wasn’t even moving. “There is only a handful of us who know the great services the Blood Riders have done for all of Tamriel.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s just a handful of you,” Ouro smirked. “Though, I have to ask, how, pray tell, did you come to be in the company of the Ravenwatch’s most junior member?” She nodded toward Melina, who was being very quiet.

“On our way here, we came across her. Almost had a scuffle, but she said she knows Fenn and that she’s with the Ravenwatch, so…along she came.” Lyris explained.

“I was sent with a message.” Melina finally spoke.

“Another dispatch from Adusa and Gwendis?” Fennorian stepped up beside Ouro.

“Well…I…sort of?” The little vampire wrang her hands, then fished out a letter from her pouch and held it out to Fenn.

“Sort of? Did something happen?” There was a note of apprehension in his voice as he stared at the plain wax seal.

“Yes…but…not bad. Just read.” Melina shifted from foot to foot, looking anxious despite her claim that she wasn’t bringing dire news.

Ouro resisted the urge to read over Fenn’s shoulder as he peeled back the seal and unfurled the scroll. He blanched the instant his eyes met the parchment, and suddenly it was impossible not to be worried. She fidgeted but froze as tears sprung to his eyes, his mouth open in abject shock.

“What is it?” She whispered. He was trembling and sat down hard. “Fennorian?” Shaking his head, he held the letter out to her, speechless. Her heart started pounding, and she finally looked down at the handwriting. At that moment, Fenn’s shock hit her, too.

It was Verandis’s handwriting, and it took Ouro a long moment to catch her breath before she could start reading it.

_Dear Fennorian,_

_I have so much to tell you, my beloved son. Though it is undoubtedly hard to believe, I am alive and well. When we see each other, I will explain everything, there is far too much to put to paper right now, but I wanted you to find out from my own hand. There are a great many things I need to tell you in addition to my return regarding the present state of affairs. Things I thought long buried, but now are coming to light._

_When the Gray Host rose up before, nearly 2,500 years ago, their ideals aligned more to my own at first, and I was heavily involved with them. Time went on, and things changed, and my friendship with Rada al-Saran dissolved as I could no longer abide by the choices that were being made. As now, I stood by the belief that we could live alongside mortals in peace, and they disagreed, seeking domination instead. So now, here we are, two and a half millennia later, poised to stop them once again._

_I’ve been appraised of your work in Western Skyrim, and I cannot tell you enough how proud I am, Fennorian. I’m greatly looking forward to hearing about it from you and Ouro when I see you both soon. Until then, know that I love you and have missed you._

_-Verandis_

He was alive. But _how?_ Ouro looked to where Fenn was sitting, staring into space. For as surprised as she was, she could only imagine how he was feeling. He appeared as though he’d been sucker-punched, which probably was the physical equivalent to learning someone you love very much is, in fact, not dead.

“I wish he said _when_ you’ll see him next.” Ouro shook her read, scanning the words again.

“Who?” Lyris frowned.

“Verandis…he’s alive.” The words felt strange to say.

“Had I not seen him myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Melina offered, meekly. She peered curiously at Ouro but without daggers in her eyes, as might have been expected. Perhaps Savien’s romance remedy in Solitude had worked as intended.

“You spoke with him?” Fenn’s gaped. “What did he say? How was he?”

“He…he seemed good, I think…mostly he spoke with Gwendis, of course…and just gave me the letter to deliver.” The little Breton shrugged and then muttered again. “Of course.”

“Are you alright?” Ouro put a hand on Fennorian’s shoulder, and his eyes met hers. He paused before nodding and getting to his feet.

“Yes…happy…just…quite taken aback. I think I’m going to take a walk if you don’t mind.” He grabbed his jacket, pulling it on, and then left.

Fenn was gone a while, and Ouro’s guts were in knots. The hardest thing for her was trusting him with his own life. But, he’d made it this far without her constant intervention; he would be fine out on a stroll. Probably…hopefully. _He’s not a child_ , she reminded herself harshly.

Melina was sitting to her left, still peering at her, and it was getting a bit unnerving. Lyris and Sai Sahan were across the fire talking amongst themselves like old war comrades who hadn’t seen each other in years. There was a good deal more than that between them, though, that much was evident.

“Is there something you need to say?” Ouro did her best not to speak _too_ sharply.

“I…oh…um, no.” Melina shook her head and looked into the fire, shoulders hunched.

“You’re not a good liar.”

“Well…” The girl squirmed, and Ouro sighed. “It’s not what you think.”

“What is it you think I think?”

“It’s not about Fennorian.”

Ouro folded her arms and nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ve been having some…struggles lately…of my own…” Melina halted, looking a bit horrified at herself. “Sorry, I know you of all people couldn’t care less about my problems…”

“There’s no one else here to hear you out, so you might as well just spill it. Besides, there might be something relevant that’s happened in the last six and a half centuries.” Ouro motioned for her to go on, surprised at herself.

“Well…I’m invisible.”

Ouro waited for her to elaborate before concluding that the girl was suffering some delusion.

“I mean…like tonight. I was sent for and given a message to deliver. Being trusted with sensitive correspondence is all well and good, but…I never wanted to just run errands for the members of the Ravenwatch who are more important.”

“I don’t think Verandis is the sort to count any individual amongst his flock to be more important than the others.” Thinking about it, Ouro could see how the little chit might be getting a raw deal.

“Even so, it’s how I feel. What I want…is to matter.” Melina deflated even more. “That probably seems silly to you; you seem like you’ve always mattered.”

“There’s nothing silly about wanting to feel like you’re seen. I was _given_ nothing; if you want things to be different, you have to make them that way. We make our lives for ourselves; they don’t just _happen_.”

A long silence stretched on as Melina stared into the fire, thinking. Irritating as it was, Ouro wondered how another vampire so young ended up under Verandis’s care. She couldn’t be more than twenty-two. How old was Fennorian, for that matter? Maybe she didn’t want to know.

“I was terribly jealous of you, you know.” Melina’s voice was quiet, and she didn’t look up.

“You don’t say?” Too much sarcasm, perhaps. Ouro cleared her throat. “I see.”

“It probably took no effort to get Fennorian’s attention, did it?”

“I…well…” This had quickly become a conversation she didn’t want to have with the girl who was enamored with her…her what? Fennorian.

“I just want someone to look at me the way he looks at you.” Melina shrugged.

“Well…you’ve got all the time in the world, haven’t you? Why not become the person you want to be and then worry about that? Besides, in the meantime, you can just fill the void with people like Savien.” Ouro grinned as the girl gasped, mortified. “Your secret’s safe with me; he’s the blabbermouth you ought to worry about.

The fire was little more than embers with dawn mere hours away, and Ouro tossed and turned, staring at the empty bedroll beside her. She’d been resisting the temptation to get up and hunt Fenn down when finally, she heard his footsteps. He shed the jacket, boots, and trousers before crawling in with her.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long.” He whispered.

“It’s alright…how are you do—” Ouro gasped as he rolled atop her, silencing the question with a kiss. “Fennorian…”

“Shall I stop?”

“Well…I…I just want to make sure you’re okay…” She was a bit bewildered.

“I am.” He kissed her neck. “Would you rather I wait…?”

“Of course, not. But aren’t you worried about the others?”

“They’re asleep.” His fingers worked deftly to undo buttons and ties. “I don’t feel like discussing it now; we can talk in the morning.”

Ouro understood the sentiment well and was as interested as he was in tending to their unfinished business.


	27. Reunion **MARKARTH SPOILERS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SPOILERS AHEAD*  
> There is information in this chapter pertaining to events in the Markarth DLC. If you haven't completed it yet and don't want any spoilers, don't read on!!!

The valley that stretched out before them was breathtaking. Below, the Karth river wound between the mountains and mist gathered at their tops as a hawk glided high above on the early morning breeze. Regardless of her feelings toward the Reachfolk, even Ouro couldn’t deny the rugged beauty of the Reach itself. It _was_ part of Skyrim, after all.

Her feet dangled over the cliff’s edge, and Fennorian, his arm draped about her shoulders, pulled her tighter against his side as they sat, watching the sun rise. They hadn’t slept much, though there hadn’t been much time between his return and dawn.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m nervous about seeing him again.”

“Apprehensive? Or excited?”

“Both…neither. I’m not sure how to describe it. I wasn’t there when he…left, so I never had the chance to say goodbye.” He let out a long, shaky breath. “I’m indescribably overjoyed that he’s not gone, of course…it’s just complicated, I suppose.”

“I’m no stranger to complicated feelings.” Ouro smiled a little, and he turned abruptly, meeting her eyes.

“Oh…I’m so thoughtless. I’m sorry, Ouro, I hadn’t even thought about what this means to _you_ , too.”

“A good deal less than it means to you, not to worry. He was my friend, but your relationship with him is far more important.” She assured him, not wanting even a little bit to discuss herself and her feelings in this situation.

Fenn didn’t look convinced, and she could see that her past with Verandis weighed on him yet. It wasn’t really surprising; she, too, might have had some feelings if some lover of Fenn’s, believed to be dead, showed up again. In truth, she wasn’t even sure how she felt about seeing Verandis again.

“If it will help, when you do get to see him, I can stay away…” Perhaps it might be easier if she wasn’t there at all…for all of them. Part of her hoped he’d say yes, but the rest of her knew better.

“No, that’s not what I want. Besides, his letter says he wants to see us _both_.” His eyes said what his mouth didn’t; he didn’t want to go alone. In his place, she probably wouldn’t want to either.

“Well, if I did everything Verandis wanted, I’d be a member of the Ravenwatch.” Ouro scoffed, aiming to lighten the mood but fell short.

“Would that really be so terrible?” The hopeful way Fennorian was looking at her just then smashed to bits the peace they’d been enjoying. That was _not_ a topic she wanted to discuss. Her face likely reflected the sentiment as he quickly moved on to something else. “You said yourself that you thought his goal was for us to…be together. I think he would take some comfort from knowing that in his absence, we found each other.”

“That’s probably true.” She stewed quietly, imagining how smugly pleased Verandis would be that he’d been right and knew her so well. Her fantasy of being a great big mystery to all unraveled more every day.

“Have you…missed him?” Fenn started the sort of fidgeting he did when whatever he was thinking about made him uncomfortable, tugging at the edge of his jacket and shifting like there was a pebble under his ass or something.

“No.” Ouro shook her head, and he looked taken aback by the blunt admission. “I was sad for you that he was gone, but…regardless of the friendship I had with him, I never felt his absence or longed to see him again.”

“Really?” His brows drew together as he mulled it over. “I’d have thought…” They needed to stop dancing around the issue and just have the unpleasant discussion. This tiptoeing was driving them both crazy.

“Look, Fennorian, I know my history with Verandis isn’t your favorite thing, and undoubtedly, it was easier for you and me both to deal with when we thought he was dead.” Ouro took his hand, entwining their fingers. “I can’t change anything that’s happened…and I wouldn’t even if I could.”

“I’m sorry, I…I am trying not to think about it, but…it feels…uncomfortable…to think that he’s been with you the way I’ve been with you…” He sighed, but suddenly she laughed aloud, and his frown deepened. “What’s funny about that?”

“ _No one’s_ been with me the way you have. I’m pretty sure I’ve said as much more than once now.” There was a mighty big difference between laying with just anyone and the way she felt when it was Fenn. It was a different act altogether. “I’m sorry that it bothers you, but…you will have to sort it out for yourself. I’ve told you how I feel.”

“I know…I will get my head on right, I promise.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t like thinking about you with anyone else either.” She shrugged a shoulder, but his interest was piqued.

“Really?”

“Apparently, I’m more of a jealous person than I ever thought.” Ouro leaned closer, and he smiled. She’d been right in thinking that he’d be pleased to hear he wasn’t the only one to struggle with such disconcerting thoughts.

“Not that I _want_ you to feel jealous; I’m just impressed you think I can make you feel that way.” His smile broadened.

“Did you already forget catching me spying on you and Melina talking that night in Solitude?” She sighed, and he shook his head.

“No, but I prefer to remember other things about that night.” Fenn grinned, and Ouro felt a warm, pleasant clench at her center. She remembered, too, and she let her mind wander around it a bit, not to mention all the other intimate time they’d spent together. “I think I’ve got it.” His sudden revelation jostled her from her reverie.

“Got what?”

“The thing I need to remind myself.” He smiled at her. “Without your past with Verandis…there would be no me-and-you.”

“That’s true.” She gave a nod. Indeed, had she not stopped in Rivenspire on a whim that day, she would have never even known Fennorian existed.

“I’m grateful for it, then. I regret nothing that’s happened since we’ve met…not even…the bad things, because…that brought us closer, too.”

The sun crawled up higher as they sat together, watching. Ouro’s mind wandered back to more pressing matters, unfortunately. The time they’d spent in the Reach had mostly been dedicated to finding leads regarding the Gray Host, but she was certain Tesgrim was here somewhere, too. Her mother had attempted to insist that she come along, arguing that her skills were invaluable. But, the fact of the matter was that for as long as Edalie had been alive, she’d spent that time sheltered and out of her mind. It had taken a great deal of convincing, but Ouro did finally secure a promise from her mother not to interfere. Whether or not Edalie would adhere to that promise remained to be seen, but there was no more time to waste.

There was much work to be done.

Sai Sahan had departed after spending a couple days with the group, scouring the area for more concentrated Gray Host activity. He and Lyris weren’t nearly as shy about _their_ nocturnal activities being audible as Fenn had been. Needless to say, his reservations evaporated quickly. As the Redguard bid farewell and rode off, his half-giant darling had gazed after him for a long moment, turning puce upon noticing that Ouro watched. When she waggled her eyebrows suggestively at Lyris, Ouro had to neatly dodge a surprisingly swift swing of that massive axe.

They’d split up, with Fennorian and Lyris heading to a ruin behind Bthardamz, and Ouro, on a hunch, decided to go into the Dwemer ruin itself. The stones had been touched recently with magic, that much was apparent. Silently, she crept through the winding passage of the main gatehouse, so far encountering no one, but she caught a hint of blood in the air.

There was a locked and chained metal gate that would keep mortals out, but as mist, Ouro passed through it with no trouble. She crouched and hurried toward several large, jutting rocks, pressing herself flat until she very carefully moved. Seeing that there was no one on the walkway above, she peered down a massive stairway. At the bottom, vampires milled about in the shadows. Their regalia didn’t match that of the Gray Host, however. Her heart was beating hard. Through the doors that led down into the ruin, she could see more of them and wondered just how many there were in total. If this was where Tesgrim had come to hide, had he been amassing a new army of his own? If so, why wouldn’t he have just merged forces with the Gray Host?

The sun was going down, but the vampires still skirted along the edges of the shadows, avoiding even the indirect sunlight. So, if this was Tesgrim’s new army, he hadn’t taken the time to assemble more daywalkers. That was advantageous.

Ouro was in no way prepared to face the consequences of being noticed by anyone in league with Tesgrim while there were still so many unknowns. There was no doubt, of course, that he expected her to come looking for him. He’d never have simply abandoned the Riders the way he had otherwise.

Resolving to get in touch with Soren and discuss their options, Ouro made her way back out to where Brazzelac was waiting. He gave her a look as she approached, and she shrugged in reply, then mounted and started up the path that Lyris and Fenn had taken. As she got farther up, she found dead vampires and their disgusting hounds littering the ground. As it was supposed to have been a somewhat stealthy endeavor, it seemed the plot to spy had been foiled.

Lyris was likely to blame for that, though… Ouro stopped and looked from body to body. There were arrows jutting from many of them. Lyris only used an axe, and Fennorian was more likely to slap himself in the face with the bowstring than fire an arrow.

She spurred Brazz into a trot, making her way further up the path and rounding a bend, then another. Coming up the wide, timeworn stairs, she found her companions at the top, as well as one she hadn’t expected. Savien whirled, his bow aimed, then let out an exasperated noise, lowering it.

“I could have _shot_ you.”

“No, you couldn’t have.” She dismounted.

“Of course, I could have…” His pride looked perhaps ever so slightly wounded. 

“What happened here?” There were more dead vampires, and near an altar stood Fenn, concern furrowing his brow. He didn’t look up, lost in his thoughts.

“We almost had them, that’s what.” Lyris snapped. “That son of a bitch was _right here_.”

“Which son of a bitch is that? We’ve got a list these days.” Ouro gave Brazz a gentle nudge as he started nosing in Savien’s pack and then tugged on his hood.

“Rada… _ack_!” The Breton flinched and jerked away. “Rada al-Saran” He slung his bow across his back, sidling away, eyeing the horse warily.

“Oh.” Ouro looked again to where Fennorian was staring at something on a small, waist-high pedestal near the altar.

They’d received another briefing that morning from Verandis, and he’d revealed some uncomfortable truths that neither she nor Fenn were prepared for. The great Count Ravenwatch had himself, once upon a time, been in league with the Gray Host. It was, of course, early in the First Era, before the werewolves and vampires had been ground into the dirt the _first_ time, and he’d left them before they’d waged war on the living. However, back then, he’d maintained a close and lengthy friendship with the Ashen Lord. Something about the way he’d worded it picked at Ouro’s brain a little, but she hadn’t said anything, and wouldn’t, unless Fennorian noticed it, too.

“There was some sort of memory imprint on that thing over there that I think Fenn is having some angst about.” Savien nodded his head in Fenn’s direction.

“Angst _is_ his forte. I’ll see to him.” Ouro headed over, and as she touched his shoulder, he gave a start and blinked at her.

“You’re here.” He seemed bewildered.

“Of course, I am. What’s going on?”

“There’s an auramancy trigger on this, and it showed Verandis speaking about souls’ ability to travel…he was the same, but…different. I don’t know…I’m not sure who this message is for.” Fennorian shook his head.

“For Verandis, probably. Considering his relationship with Rada al-Saran…”

“Relationship?” His eyes widened as a puzzle piece seemed to click into place. “ _Relationship_ relationship?”

“I…suspect so, from what his note said this morning…”

“Gods.” He let out a long breath and shook his head. Ouro braced herself, uncertain how Fenn would take it. Rada al-Saran was the reason he’d been tortured, after all. “If that’s true, then this is going to be even more difficult for him…”

“Oh, shit…” Another thought occurred to her, one that was much worse.

“What?” Fenn looked eager.

“I just…remembered something…erm…Tesgrim…” She lied and gave a dismissive wave. If Verandis had been part of the Gray Host, then he’d known Tzinghalis, and that mad bastard had known Fenn was part of the Ravenwatch. That made his torture, in part, Verandis’s fault. Neither Fenn nor Verandis would take that revelation particularly well. Quickly, Ouro redirected. “We won’t know what all this is about till we actually talk to Verandis.” She pointed at the pedestal, and Fenn nodded.

“Well.” Savien appeared at Ouro’s elbow. “You can ask him all about it soon. We’re to meet him down in Arkthzand, and I imagine he’d prefer sooner rather than later, all things considered.”

For all the Dwemer’s ingenuity, the lift would not budge no matter how much pulling they did of the leaver. On a whim, Ouro and Fennorian started down what seemed like a narrow passage in the rocks nearby. It was hidden and would have remained so had Ouro not gotten frustrated and kicked a rock, which echoed as it tumbled down through the opening.

Lyris and Savien had gone their own ways for their own reasons, but the privacy afforded by their absence was certainly welcome. Besides, the tunnel would likely have been too tight a fit for Lyris to get through comfortably; Fenn had already hit his head three times in the first five minutes of entering. It descended in a large spiral around the shaft of the lift. Some parts had even broken through and made the pathway narrow and precarious.

“What was it you were saying before? About Tesgrim?” Fenn’s voice echoed off the stone.

“It’s possible he’s gathering forces or supporters in Bthardamz. I saw vampires down there, and they weren’t Gray Host. They also weren’t…I don’t know… _top tier_ vampires.”

“Top tier?” Fenn glanced back at her over his shoulder.

“I think they’re fairly new, untrained. He’s probably turning them as fast as he can.” She grit her teeth and grunted as a small rock rolled under her heels, and she flailed, barely keeping her balance. “I used to think he was smarter than that. A legion of young, starving vampires could come at the Riders, and we’d cut them down like a scythe shears wheat.”

“When we see Gwendis and Adusa, we can ask if they’ve noticed any suspicious vampire activity that didn’t seem related to the Gray…agghh…” He managed not to fall as Ouro pitched forward right into him, cursing more violently than usual.

“Fuck’s sake…” She brushed herself off. “This is ridiculous; why are we _walking?_ Come on.”

“What?” He tried to tug her back from the edge as she peered down the seemingly bottomless pit.

“Just…mist. We’ll be fine.” Ouro insisted, and looking apprehensive, he nodded, and they changed. She went over the edge, pulling him with her, and they moved quickly down into the darkness. It took a fraction of the time their tedious little trek would have, and as she sensed the bottom approaching, she slowed and safely reformed on the ground. Beside her, shaking and sweating a little, so did Fennorian, looking a bit green.

“Let’s…not do that again.” He took a deep breath, and Ouro tried not to chuckle.

“Alright.” She took his hand, heading out of the lift shaft. “We don’t have to do…” Her ability to speak had left her for the moment as she gazed out into the cavern of Arkthzand. There was a faintly pulsing teal glow to everything, offset by the gentle, golden glow of dwarven lamps. Across the rock faces and the ceiling grew lacy, glowing moss and vines.

“It looks so different,” Fenn murmured, peering upward just as she did.

“Wow…” It wasn’t profound, but no other words came to mind. “My gods, Fennorian, when it’s all over, we have got to spend some time in these caverns…”

“Absolutely.” He let out a low whistle. “Just… _oh!_ There’s a library here as well. I read it in Gwendis’s notes. She said it’s massive, and us _bookish_ types would love it.”

“A Dwemer library?” She gaped up at him. “You expect me to get _anything_ accomplished now that I know there’s a library?”

“Hm. Perhaps I should have waited to tell you. Your love-affair with books rivals ours, I think.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She scoffed, and he grinned. “I’ve loved books _much_ longer than I’ve loved you.” His jaw dropped open in mock indignation, making her laugh.

“I suppose I can’t really begrudge you that. There are _so_ few things as sublime as spreading those covers and enjoying what’s in between.”

Ouro didn’t know if it was the innuendo or the fact that he was blushing the entire time he said it that was funnier, and she cackled outright but clapped her hand over her mouth. Quickly, she scanned the immediate area, and there didn’t seem to be anything of a threatening nature in their vicinity, at least. Nothing visible, anyway.

“Well.” Fenn sighed. “Now that everything down here knows where we are…”

“You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

“In _all_ the millennia I’ve lived, I’ve never heard _that_ sound.” The sudden voice startled them both, and Ouro whirled around, shielding Fenn, as though he _wasn’t_ more than a foot taller than her.

Verandis was smiling, his hands clasped behind his back, looking no worse for the wear despite all those months in Coldharbour. In her mind, Ouro had envisioned a very cool, reserved reunion with the ancient Altmer, at least on her part, where she was indifferent and unshakable. All that was dashed away the instant she heard Fennorian’s breathless sob.

“Oh…father…I…” He took a step forward, glancing down at Ouro, eyes glassy with tears. She smiled at him, her chest feeling tight as she watched.

“I’ve missed you, Fennorian…” Verandis started, but Fenn went to him, and they clasped each other in a tight embrace.

“Part of me still didn’t believe that you were back…but I…”

“I know, and I am so sorry.” Verandis pulled back, hastily wiping at his own cheeks. Ouro felt like she was intruding and looked down at her feet for a moment, uncomfortable both with feeling like she shouldn’t be there and the surge of emotion she felt just from seeing how affected Fennorian was. “I see you’ve been taking good care of Ouro.”

“You know _full well_ , father, that she’s been taking care of _me_.” Fenn chuckled, and she looked up to find both of them watching her.

“It’s been a bit of both, I’d say.” She shrugged one shoulder.

“Well, in more than three hundred years of knowing you, I’ve never heard you laugh so freely. And I have not seen Fennorian smile this way since before he was turned. It’s a safe assumption, I think, that you’ve influenced one another for the best.” Verandis squeezed Fenn’s shoulder.

“Without even the slightest modicum of exaggeration, I can say with full confidence that I would be dead without Ouro.” Fenn let out a long breath and cast her a small smile before turning back to Verandis. “So much has happened, and so many times I’ve thought to myself…if I could just talk to you…I…I have no words for how glad I am to see you.” Fenn let out a long breath.

“Gwendis told me you’ve had some difficult times since my…departure. We do have a lot to talk about, to be sure. That’s why I wanted to see you before everyone converges. We don’t have much time, but…I’m glad what little there is I get to spend it with the both of you.”


	28. Arkthzand **MARKARTH SPOILERS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is information pertaining to the Markarth DLC in this chapter.

The sheer size and complexity of the Dwemer orrery were fascinating and overwhelming, not to mention distracting. There was just something about the way their architecture and machinery stayed almost pristine thousands and _thousands_ of years later. Ouro didn’t hear practically anything anyone said as the newly reunited Ravenwatch, Lyris, and Savien laid their plans. The undulating, inky black orb at the center of it all drew her attention, again and again, humming with its strange power. It was unlike anything she’d sensed before. It was enigmatic, magnetic…and, obviously, incredibly dangerous.

The thought that such power could be useful in her conflict with Tesgrim had flitted through her mind, but the gist of what she gleaned from the ongoing discussion was that this thing, the _Dark Heart_ , was bad news. With a name like that, one could hardly expect it to be a consequence-free bundle of sunshine.

Verandis, his joy to see Fennorian aside, was clearly struggling, though he was putting forth a great effort not to show it. Ouro watched him closely, not listening to much of what was said between the two of them, and she could see plainly that something was not right. Did it have to do with coming back from the dead…undead…re-undead?

Lyris and Savien arrived shortly after she and Fennorian had, and Gwendis was waiting inside with a caged animal sort of look about her. She knew something was wrong, too. There was no time for a warm and fuzzy family reunion, and rather than emotional embraces and expressions of relief, the Ravenwatch, as usual, got right down to brass tacks.

Fennorian gave his report, and Ouro half-listened, picking up bits and pieces that convinced her further of Verandis’s involvement with Rada al-Saran. Ordinarily, she would have made some sort of remark about making enemies with one’s ancient and powerful former lover, but, well, she wasn’t in a pickle all that much different. As they were divvying up tasks, she started fiddling about, looking at the controls but turned when she heard her name.

“…if she’d be so kind.” Verandis finished. All five of them were looking at her, and she stared back.

“…what?” Perhaps it would have been wiser to pay attention. Fennorian had an odd look on his face as well that went beyond his usual worries.

“They’re questioning my ability to look after myself while they’re gone.” Verandis clarified. “While they’re out, would you be so kind as to remain here?”

“Um…” She looked at Fenn again, and he’d become unreadable. That wasn’t good. He came up to her, though.

“Verandis is having a difficult time; he’s connected, somehow, to the Dark Heart, because of his ties with the Gray Host.” He wasn’t making it any easier to discern if he wanted her to decline or not, and she couldn’t ask him outright with everyone standing around and listening in.

“You don’t think I’d be of more use with _you_?” She asked carefully.

“Ouro, if I may speak plainly,” Verandis interrupted. “There are some things I need to discuss with you in addition to the apparent necessity of a watchful nursemaid. However, in the event of…something happening, I will feel better in your company, I know your skills and trust you.” His tone told her everything she needed to know, and Ouro sighed.

“I suppose that settles that.” She muttered unhappily. Apparently satisfied with this, the others headed out to their assignments, leaving her standing awkwardly between the two Altmer vampires. Verandis politely stepped away but was still well within earshot. “Are you alright with this?” She asked Fenn in a whisper.

“Of course. Who better to entrust with my father’s safety?” He stood close and, with his thumb, lightly traced her cheekbone. “Given the option, I will always prefer to go _adventuring_ through Dwemer ruins together, but in this instance, it’s important that he…isn’t alone. I’ve got a terrible feeling about this orrery.”

“Well, I’ll do my best then, I suppose. Not that I would be of much use against a thousands-of-years-old Yokudan sword-master vampire.” Ouro had never felt any sort of angst about being apart from someone before, but the sensation crept up on her anyway. For so much of her life, there had been little that mattered enough to grieve her when absent. She took a deep breath. “Fennorian, be careful out there, please; I’m not sure what I’d do were anything to…” He kissed her suddenly with vigor, and though taken aback, she put her arms around his neck, leaning into him. There was no time for shyness when there were no guarantees.

After a long moment, he pulled back and smiled. “I’ll be fine. I’ve managed well enough on my own before you came along.”

“Yes, well…” She trailed off, blinking slowly.

“I love you, and we’ll see each other again soon.” He pressed another, much briefer kiss to her lips.

“I love you, too.” Ouro breathed, the words feeling new in her mouth. Fenn released her as she felt a little light-headed, impressed still, somehow, that anyone could affect her that way, let alone a twenty-something baby vampire.

“I’ll try not to be gone long, father.” Fenn put a hand on Verandis’s shoulder, and the ancient Altmer smiled, nodding.

“Watch yourself, Fennorian.”

A long stretch of silence went on as Fenn departed before Verandis turned back to Ouro, looking more than a little surprised as he strolled in her direction.

“Put your pointy eyebrows back down where they belong, Verandis.” She sighed.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard either of you use the word _love_ for anything outside of academia, warfare, or the taste of blood.” He made an amused sound. “Though the latter two only apply to you.”

“What did you expect? That’s I’d give him a soft pat on the bottom and send him toddling into the jaws of whatever Dwemer nightmares await?”

“I don’t know, actually. Though, I certainly didn’t expect the two of you to have bound yourselves together in blood.” The line between his brows revealed his concern.

“That’s a very personal thing, don’t you think?” Ouro folded her arms.

“You’re right…my apologies. I shouldn’t pry.” Verandis sighed.

“So. How long were you and Rada lovers?” She asked, trying not to smirk. He wasn’t ruffled, though; he’d known her long enough to expect such questions.

“Isn’t _that_ personal?”

“Did you share your blood with him?”

“I did not.”

“Then, by a vampiric definition of intimacy, it’s less personal, wouldn’t you say?”

Verandis rolled his eyes but knew when an argument was futile, especially one with her. “He and I were together a long time, yes. But…I’m sure it’s not a huge logical leap to determine why I left.”

“Considering that he doesn’t care who dies in his efforts to get what he wants, and you want to save everyone, no. I’d say that it’s fairly obvious why it ended.”

“It was probably the most meaningful relationship of that nature that I’ve ever had with someone.” He let out a long breath and sat down, looking tired. Whether it was from being dead for a few months or something else, Ouro wasn’t sure. “Gwendis seems to be struggling with it a great deal but won’t say as much.”

“Gwendis? Why? I’ve always known Bosmer to be almost shockingly open-minded.”

“No, not that. It’s having to deal directly with _my_ past, someone I was _with_ …”

“Why would she care…?” Ouro frowned, and he arched one brow at her a little. She recoiled. “Verandis… _ew_. She’s your ward, isn’t that…weird…?”

“I know, I never meant for it to…I…I have many faults.”

“Don’t we all, but…” She made a face. There hardly seemed two people less suited for one another than the two of them. “Strange, she never behaved any differently toward me, knowing that you and I…” That part of their history really didn’t need dredging up.

“Well, it was clear that our involvement wasn’t one of an emotional nature.”

“True…”

“Does it bother Fennorian?” Verandis braced himself. She knew how much they cared for each other, and it would wound him deeply to cause Fennorian any discontent, even if there was nothing he could do about it.

“From time to time.” Ouro poked at a dial and wiggled a switch on the orrery console. “We’ve talked about it, though, and I’ve explained to him the circumstances and how…it was never like it is with him and me.” She smiled to herself and quietly added: “Nothing’s ever been how it is with him and me.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” Verandis sounded almost wistful, and she peered at him.

“Have you ever known me to say something I _didn’t_ mean?”

“Fair point.” Whatever effects he was experiencing from the Dark Heart intensified suddenly, and he bared his teeth, wincing and bending forward as it took hold, but then slowly let go again. Part of Ouro wanted to demand to know everything about what was happening with that giant sphere, but she didn’t ask, instead letting him go on. “Gwendis said that Fennorian was captured…and…” His face twisted, pained, but not from the power gripping him. “…tortured.”

“Yes, he was, for at least two days, by a vampire called Tzinghalis.” She sobered considerably.

“Gods,” Verandis whispered. “I knew Tzinghalis. He was…brutal, to say the least. I trust you dispatched him?”

“There is no coming back from the death he got.”

“Good.” He nodded. “And…Gwendis told me something else that I found shocking and difficult to believe.”

“Which was?” Ouro sat beside him and saw haunting darkness in his eyes. His tether to the Dark Heart could very well mean his end; it was so strong.

“You left the Riders in order to rescue him.”

“I did.” Perhaps this would be the last time she’d have to tell the story. She hoped so and launched into the tale of Fenn’s letters and their time in Blackreach. Verandis listened, rapt, and in awe of it all. They’d been through so much in so short a time.

“I saw the change in him the instant the two of you climbed out of that lift.” Verandis shook his head. “He’s grown…he’s become the person he needs to be because of you.”

“I can’t take the credit for that; he’s been a wonderful person from the beginning…albeit a bit twitchy in some cases. He worries enough for the both of us.” Ouro smiled.

“He’s sensitive and caring, and he’s always sought to do what’s right. The struggle with feeding directly from a moral was one that always upset him greatly. How has that been? Has he needed to feed, or were you able to get enough donated?” Verandis sounded more and more like a parent fretting for his child.

“The desire to sink his fangs into living flesh is still as potent as it is for all of us; he doesn’t trust himself, of course, which I understand after what he told me. Even when starving after I freed him from Tzinghalis, he refused to take blood from Savien. That…” It still felt strange to talk about it. “That was when he fed from me for the first time.”

“Your blood is…” Verandis stroked his chin, eyes widening. “It hadn’t occurred to me that your blood might be alive. Fascinating. And it satisfied his hunger?”

“Yes, well…” Ouro shifted a little uncomfortably. “Generally, after that time, that activity is typically reserved for…particular intimacies…”

“Naturally.” He smirked. “He’s fortunate to have _your_ guidance in such matters.”

“Right.” She squirmed. “Anyway…that’s enough talk of that, I think.”

“Certainly.” Verandis agreed. “So…what of Tesgrim?” That topic was only marginally less uncomfortable than her private dealings with Fennorian, but it _was_ preferable.

* * *

.

* * *

Fennorian had prepared himself for hard truths when he received the news that his mentor lived. He’d talked with Ouro at length about all the possible connotations of Verandis’s involvement with the Gray Host. It didn’t matter, though, all his preparation and steeling his heart for whatever he might learn…he wasn’t prepared for this.

The merest thought of his time trapped in Tzinghalis’s machine still filled him with dread and made his heart race in terror. Never would he have imagined experiencing that magnitude of pain, such agony that had made him scream and beg to be killed. It was the second darkest and most terrible memory he had. All of it had been possible…because of Verandis. It was _his_ work they’d taken and made those machines from, his procedures that they’d used to bring the Gray Host back.

He simply didn’t understand. The kind of man Verandis was would have never supported such atrocities. The auramancy had revealed his disgust with what Rada al-Saran wanted to do. But still…Fennorian’s own pain and suffering, and that of others, and all those that madman had killed…none would have gone through it were it not for the work Verandis had done.

A sick feeling in Fennorian’s gut whispered dark things, blaming Verandis for this. Had it not been for him, none of this would be happening. Solitude and the holds of Western Skyrim would have gone unmolested; hundreds and thousands would not have been either killed or reduced to husks by the harrowstorms…

No. He mustn’t go down that path. He _knew_ Verandis, truly, and completely. It was his work that led to these atrocities, but he’d left the Gray Host in an attempt to avoid these kinds of things. That truth still did not lessen the blow; it still did not take the ache from Fennorian’s chest. He wished now that Ouro _had_ come with him. She might not have been able to say anything to soothe these feelings, but her presence would be a comfort.

The matter hung heavily on his mind as he made his way back to the orrery. What would the others have found in the other places Rada had intended for Verandis to see? Had there been more revelations? More bad news?

Slipping through the massive Dwarven doors, Fennorian silently made his way to where he saw his mentor waiting alone. He looked lost in thought, haunted even. Worse than knowing what Fennorian knew was being the person responsible for it. Such a burden would have crushed him. After a long moment, Verandis looked up and saw him, quickly rising to his feet.

“You’re back.” He smiled, but his face fell when he saw Fennorian’s. He’d never been able to hide his feelings from Verandis. “What…what did you learn?”

“Some…difficult information, father. Where is Ouro? I need to speak with her…” Fennorian looked around, but she was nowhere. He didn’t sense her or hear her making whatever usual racket she made when rummaging through interesting things.

“She received an urgent message from her Second. She wasn’t going to go, but I insisted I would be fine without her.” Verandis explained.

“What was the message? Did she tell you?” The unsettled feeling at his center grew stronger. “Something’s not right…”

“She left you this. Obviously, it’s to do with the Riders and locating Tesgrim.” Verandis handed over a folded slip of paper, and Fennorian quickly read her hurried, scrawling handwriting.

_Fenn – One of T’s fledglings was captured and interrogated; they managed to extract some viable information. I had to go at once, I am sorry. I will return as soon as I can. Please don’t be upset. We both know I’m old but not old enough to withstand R.a.S. on my own anyway. I love you. –Ouro_

Fennorian had a hard time believing there was anything she couldn’t withstand, but, admittedly, he was biased. Logically, he knew perfectly well that to face a vampire that had lived for millennia would be unwise even of her and most likely futile at best. His sick feeling intensified. Tesgrim was thousands of years old, too. But with the Riders at her back, surely her chances were higher.

“I will speak with her when she returns, I suppose.” He murmured and tucked the note into his leather jack. Still, the damnable thing itched, and he adjusted it a little. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be much longer before he could get his own armor back.

“What did you find in Bthar-Zel?” Verandis asked, and Fennorian struggled to find words that didn’t sound…accusatory.

“The things Rada al-Saran and his exarchs have done…their experiments, the methodology, the very procedures themselves…they took from… _your_ work.” He breathed at last but watched as Verandis wilted. “Had I known, when I was Tzinghalis’s prisoner, that what he was doing to me was all derived from your mind…I’m not sure I would have made it out of there.”

“I am…more sorry than I can say, Fennorian…I never imagined that it would come to this. I never could have guessed…” Verandis let out a long breath. “To know that so many have suffered because I all but put the tools in the hands of the Gray Host…” He shook his head. “I will have to live with it and atone for the rest of my life.”

“Why did you hide your past from us?” They sat down together, and Verandis let out a long breath.

“Shame. I was and still am ashamed that I was part of something that went on to destroy countless lives. I believed it all buried with them until now. It’s all come back, and I must pay the price. I’ve worked hard to teach you and the others to be good people, to be more than fangs and feeding. I suppose I didn’t want my own failings to somehow taint that.” Verandis put his head in his hands, and Fennorian put an arm around his shoulders.

“Being fallible doesn’t change the good you’ve done or the good you’ve taught us. If anything, it helps…in a way…to know I am not the only one haunted by the things I’ve done.” He quickly wiped at his cheeks, exhaling sharply. “None of us are perfect.”

“Your kindness and understanding know no bounds, Fennorian. I pray you never lose that.” Verandis looked over at him; his eyes weren’t dry either. “At least I know there will always be someone to hold you accountable. She’s a tough nut to crack, but it seems like you’ve done it.”

“Ouro?” Fennorian chuckled. “I told her once that I thought you and I had known her very differently.” He sat back, a broad smile on his face, and it must have been contagious because Verandis smiled, too. “Father, I wish you could see her the way she lets me see her. Her smiles and laughter and…they’re radiant. She has lived so long and can still be happy and find fascination in the world even after everything she’s been through. So many of the fears that I’ve carried since being turned…they’re all but vanished entirely.” The dark cloud that had hung over him since the beginning seemed so far away now.

“You can’t possibly know the joy it gives me to hear that.” Verandis choked back a laugh-sob, shaking his head. “I am beyond happy for you, my son.”

“Thank you.” Fennorian looked down, blushing suddenly. “Did you really mean for Ouro and me to be together?”

“I only had a feeling that you each had something the other needed. You’ll keep her young, and she’ll make you wise.” The elder Altmer sighed again and rose to his feet, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Whether you like it or not.”

Fennorian laughed. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

“Worry not, she will be back soon. It pained her to leave; I could see it.” Verandis clapped him on the back as the laughter dissipated, leaving behind the cold anxiousness.

“I cannot help but worry for her, especially with the way I feel right now.”


	29. Keystone **MARKARTH SPOILERS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **SPOILERS**
> 
> This chapter contains information pertaining to the Markarth DLC questline and epilogue.

The orrery doors loomed, inexplicably shiny. Ouro stood in front of them for a small eternity before crossing the threshold. It didn’t feel right lying to Fennorian and Verandis, but there was no other choice. They’d never see reason until after everything was done. Even then, maybe not. If she lived, anyway. But some things needed to be done for the whole of Tamriel, whatever the risk. There was no possible good that could come from naturally multiplying vampires.

Gathering up her resolve, Ouro slipped inside. Besides the undulating vibrations and sounds the Dark Heart made, it was silent. There was no chatter, no idle clanking around. No one was there.

“Hello?” She called. Perhaps it was just Verandis again since they’d taken to treating him like an invalid rather than bringing him along.

“Well, well.” A deep, rich, and unfamiliar voice echoed through the chamber. Ouro could guess who it belonged to. Option _were_ limited. “I certainly wasn’t expecting a visit from _you_.” He chuckled in that supremely confident and superior way that grated on her nerves.

The Redguard vampire stepped out and into view, regarding her coolly, one brow arched as he made his assessment. Ouro fancied herself prepared for anything, but apparently this had not been included. She couldn’t face Rada al-Saran any more than she could face Tesgrim. It was all for nothing if she died right now.

He folded his hands behind his back, and she couldn’t help but think he was much shorter than she might have guessed from such a powerful voice. Alas, she was in no position to make any of the short jokes that immediately came to mind.

“Ah, well…surprise.” She shrugged.

“You’re looking for your friends, I imagine. Verandis gobbles up my well-laid breadcrumbs so readily, it was no difficult task to get them to leave. They’ve likely made some important and awe-inspiring discovery in my lab. He never really learned that I’m always five steps ahead.”

“Oh.” Ouro made a disappointed sound and folded her arms. He frowned, apparently expecting fear or some kind of reverence, perhaps.

“What?”

“I didn’t realize you were one of those gives-speeches sort of…nemeses.”

“ _What_?” He blinked, taken aback by her frankness and lack of reaction. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, big evil patting of yourself on the back…blah blah blah.” Despite her outward nonchalance, Ouro’s mind raced for any scenario where she might _not_ come out of this dismembered with her remains arranged in some jaunty, morbid display.

“I could just kill you now.” His eyes narrowed.

“Whatever stops the speeches.” Ouro shrugged.

“I do know who you are. You caused us a significant amount of trouble in Blackreach. Tzinghalis is dead because of you.” Stating the obvious for dramatic effect…vampires really needed to expand their horizons if they were going to keep trying to take over Tamriel. She sighed a bit too heavily.

“Well…technically, it’s because someone impatiently swung an axe and robbed me of giving him a slow, torturous death. But, yes, I was there and dead is dead.” She stood very still as he strolled up to her at a leisurely pace.

“I felt his loss deeply, but I understand that we all can do rash things for love.” His power practically radiated from him, and for the first time in a very long time, Ouro felt exactly how much of a disadvantage she had. Six and a half centuries was nothing to him, and moments were completely inconsequential.

“I hope you’re not expecting an apology.” Though unwise, she smirked anyway.

“No. I know enough about you to fully understand that your actions are deliberate. You’re a very tactical fighter, aren’t you? I also know you’re not foolish enough to attack me.” Rada’s speech-making wasn’t going to end soon, it seemed. “And…I can smell it on you. You’ve made a _deal_. I suppose you _haven’t_ conferred with your companions? Please tell me you didn’t.” His grin was menacing.

“We do what we must.” It took every ounce of her self-control to keep from showing even the slightest sign of her discomfort.

“Verandis certainly would never approve. He does love his precious morality. Though, I wouldn’t have expected it from you, to be honest, and that’s saying something. If your intention is to somehow thwart me as well as do away with Tesgrim, you must know that any effort you make is in vain.” He smiled.

“I half expected him to join up with you.” It seemed safest to divert from any discussion about his demise. It _was_ important to her and her plans that he cease to exist, but that was for her to know.

“He tried.” Rada stepped away, looking up at the Dark Heart. The strange green glow it gave off, despite the void at its center, shone on his face. “Tzinghalis was especially interested in the work he wants to do, particularly where you were concerned. But, I think upon realizing that he’d be playing second fiddle to someone, Tesgrim decided against it.”

“He _is_ a selfish shit; I give you that much.” Ouro nodded, letting out a long breath. How far were the others? Were they going to arrive to find her dead or to watch her die? Or worse, would he keep her alive and make her watch as he killed them? If she’d had any optimism, it was gone now.

“You’re aware, of course, that once I get to where I’m going that the Gray Host will be untouchable there, yes?” Smugness marred his fairly handsome face.

“And then what? You wreak your havoc all over Nirn until there’s nothing left? Just vampires and mortal cattle?”

“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re both and neither. I tire of being lorded over by a daedric prince. The thought of perishing only to remain for eternity in his realm is terrible, don’t you agree? How can you begrudge us freedom and true immortality?”

“Are you trying to convince me? Because, if you are, I can save you a lot of time and just tell you now that there’s really no point. Maybe you’re stalling? Or…perhaps you like the way your own voice sounds bouncing off these walls and all this shiny machinery.” She’d irked Rada, finally, though the flash of anger in his eyes was brief. “I think you’re waiting for something.” Ouro stroked her chin theatrically. “What _ever_ could it be? Or rather, _who_.”

“You would mock me for wanting to bid one last farewell to Verandis?”

“I would mock you for just about anything. Those ridiculous gloves, that frilly thing at your neck, _trying_ to lure your former lover back into your arms with the promise of forever and the deaths of thousands.” Ouro sighed and put her hands on her hips. Provoking him was fun and all, but the waiting was getting tedious. If she managed to stay alive long enough for Verandis, Fennorian, and the others to arrive, she could do what she’d come there for.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Gone was the cool tone of superior indifference, and Ouro grinned. “You won’t be smiling so much when…” A loud bang came from the direction of the entrance.

“Oh! I think your stalling worked.” She could hear the enormous metal door as it scraped the stone floor. “They’re here. What timing!”

The blast hit her hard, and as she was pinned face down to the floor, it felt as though knives glided across her flesh and peeled it back as the energy constricted around her. It was difficult not to cry out, but she didn’t want to alarm Fennorian especially and risk him doing anything stupid. Through the wavering red around her, she saw Verandis, and the voices were muffled as she strained to listen. As she lifted her head, the pain intensified, and she gasped for air, unable to pull enough into her lungs. Suffocation wouldn’t kill her, but it would be painful regardless. Why Rada didn’t just kill her outright, she didn’t know.

Then…he was gone. The trap pinning Ouro down dissipated, and she inhaled gulping breaths. Fennorian ran to her side, dropping to his knees, turning her over.

“Are you alright?” He slumped in relief when she nodded.

“I’m in one piece…”

“We need to go after him!” Verandis, shaken and out of sorts, was breathing hard. Ouro let Fenn pull her to her feet, and he began to fuss, checking for injuries until she grabbed his hands.

“I’m okay, really. Thank you, but… there are much more important things right now.” She gave his hands a squeeze, and he let out a long breath.

“We can talk later…there is…there’s a lot to discuss.” He sighed.

Verandis was holding pieces of a destroyed keystone, brow furrowed, anguish etched on his face. Their only way to open that portal to follow was _that_ keystone, and it had been destroyed.

“Count…what happened to it?” Lyris stepped up, staring at the shattered fragments.

“You can make another one, can’t you?” Gwendis took the pieces out of Verandis’s hands, frowning at them.

“I…I don’t know, he must have…but how…?” He shook his head. “It must be reassembled…there’s no other way…”

“Fennorian!” The Bosmer snapped. “Get over here and fix this; you’re the puzzle solver, not me!” She shoved them into his hands, and he blinked, staring down.

“That’s not the only way in,” Ouro spoke up. Collectively, they turned to look at her.

“What do you mean?” Verandis whispered as if daring not to hope.

“This.” Ouro pulled a crystal from her bag, roughly the size of the keystone. Inside, its contents swirled through a glittering blackness with bright, luminescent blue showing through sporadically. “It will act as the keystone, and it will get you where you need to go.” She watched as Savien narrowed his eyes suddenly, looking from the object to her, shaking his head ever so slightly. Silently she begged him not to say whatever he was thinking.

“Where did you get it?” Verandis took it, frowning as he looked closely. If anyone was going to be suspicious, it would be him, but he just blinked and handed it back. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. And it will be a great deal more accurate and stable than the actual keystone.” It was part of that bargain that Rada had so cleverly sniffed out, and it amused her somewhat that he thought it had nothing to do with him.

“You trust this? Where is it from?” Fennorian took the crystal, running his fingers over its facets, examining it from various angles.

“I trust it. I will go through the portal myself if I must…” Sooner or later they would notice all the questions she was dodging.

“That won’t be necessary.” Verandis shook his head. “I must go on my own.”

“No way!” Gwendis shrieked. “You’re not getting away _again_ , Verandis. I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not. Remain here with Fennorian and Ouro, keep the portal _open_.”

“You can’t be serious…” She spluttered, indignant.

“I am dead serious, Gwendis. _Stay_ here and monitor the portal.”

“Because I’m so useful for _that_. I’ll supervise, I guess.” Gwendis muttered petulantly.

“I’m going, too. You’re going to need at least someone else there.” Savien came forward, still casting a suspicious eye at Ouro. She needed their trust; she needed them to know she was ensuring their success, not condemning them.

“I can’t ask that of you, Savien, but…I welcome your assistance.” Verandis let out a long breath.

“What?!” Gwendis gaped. “He gets to go, but I don’t?” Verandis made an exasperated noise.

“It doesn’t matter as much if _I_ die.” Savien told her with a wink.

“Well? What are we waiting for? Time’s a-wasting.” Lyris folded her arms. Ouro knew full well that there was no keeping the half-giant back, and she felt better knowing that Lyris would be with them. Strong and reliable, she would do everything in her power to bring Verandis and Savien back.

Ouro slotted the crystal, and the orrery came to life. The Dark Heart vibrated and shifted and the massive portal reformed beneath it. Verandis spoke quickly and quietly, both with Fennorian and a very agitated, borderline furious Gwendis. Without hesitation, he walked up the stairs and leapt in. Lyris, looking from the portal to Savien and back again, lunged after him.

“I know where you got that.” Savien pointed to the crystal, as serious as she’d ever seen him.

“I had no choice, but you have to trust me.” She told him quietly.

He shook his head. “You’re lucky I know you to be an honorable person.” With that, he followed Lyris, and Ouro let out a long breath.

“Where _did_ you get the crystal?” Fennorian came up to her side.

“I had to ask for help. It would appear that it was good that I did.” It wasn’t even a smooth not-answer answer to his question, and though he frowned a little, he didn’t push. “What did you want to talk about? Since…all we can do is hurry up and wait until someone comes back out again.” She nodded her head toward the portal. Gwendis was pacing again, muttering rude things about being left behind.

“I learned some disturbing history in Bthar-Zel.” His eyes anxiously lingered on the Dark Heart. “Everything that’s happened…it was…they took it all from Verandis’s own work.”

“What do you mean?”

“The research he did while he was with them. They took it and recreated compounds and procedures…right down to the rituals. It was all used to bring the Gray Host back. Tzinghalis, and his…all of what he did…” Fenn looked like he might be sick.

“Oh, gods…” Ouro closed her eyes, leaning close to him. “I’m sorry, Fennorian.”

“I had some time to think about it, and when I got back, he and I discussed it. Still, it is…jarring. Those scars I will carry with me for as long as I live…I hate thinking about how he had anything to do with it.”

“I know.” She whispered. “I wish I could undo all that. Alas, my powers are limited, as you saw just a bit ago when that bastard had me pinned to the floor.”

“If Tesgrim is anywhere near that powerful, how can you face him?” Worry leapt into his blue eyes, and they appeared to become redder. “What did you learn from the fledgling?”

“I…” She sighed. “Soren did question someone and got information, but I only know the broad strokes. We did learn that he _is_ in Bthardamz, and the Riders shouldn’t have much trouble taking care of whatever small army he’s gathered.”

“And then what? Attack Tesgrim by himself?”

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen yet. Once Verandis has dealt with Rada and all this, I will get with the Riders and set a plan.”

“Why not just work on it while you were there? Why come back here?” It was apparent that Fenn was anxious about Verandis. He asked a lot of questions about anything and everything when he was especially distraught, even to the point of sounding critical.

“Well, I’m fairly invested in ensuring these ancient vampire menaces are ended for good. Besides, I knew you’d need a key.” Ouro tried to smile reassuringly but knew there was little that would soothe him until everyone returned safe and sound.

Time had never moved so slowly. Hours marched by as Ouro and Fennorian monitored the machines while Gwendis yelled at them about it. They were all on edge and obviously beginning to wonder if anyone was actually going to come back or not. The worst was the feeling of helplessness, and more than once, Ouro thought to jump through the portal. Gwendis, of course, threatened it a number of times, and fortunately was talked down by her brother.

The Dark Heart stuttered and emitted a loud burst and a flash bright enough that they needed to shield their eyes. Lyris and Savien were hurled out of the portal and landed hard on the floor, panting and bleeding. A rumble shook the entire orrery, and the portal sputtered closed.

“No!” Gwendis cried. “Verandis! Where is he?!”

“I’m sorry…” Savien puffed, wincing as he got to his feet. Ouro’s stomach sank as she just stared at them.

“Staying behind was the only way to control the Darkstorm.” Lyris got up, too, looking unhappy, more so as the wail of anguish and fury tore from Gwendis.

“He promised!” In her rage, she picked up a barrel and threw it, shoving crates and hurling anything that wasn’t attached to the floor.

Ouro turned and looked up at Fennorian, who wore his heartbreak plain as he stared at the Dark Heart, mouth open. Her guts twisted painfully to see it, and she took his hand.

“Fenn…” She whispered.

“He’s gone…again?” His voice was soft, nearly inaudible, and the tears rose in his eyes. “I’d thought…I…I still had so much to talk with him about…”

“I’m so sorry…” Ouro had hoped for something more profound to say, but what was there? When had anything anyone ever said, in the history of people dying, helped make those who grieved feel better?

“At least we were here this time…I did get to talk…but…” He was bewildered as the loss he’d felt before renewed and wounded him all over again. The Dark Heart lurched suddenly, and Fennorian reflexively shielded Ouro. It spat out one more figure before it quietly grew still and dormant.

“Whatever he stayed behind to do, I think he did it…” Ouro murmured, then moved closer and found herself looking at a somewhat raggedy, confused Reach woman. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I…? Wha…” The woman looked startled and blinked up at Ouro, whose hostility was, at the moment, incredibly unhelpful.

“Arana.” Savien came forward and helped her to her feet. “You were _dead_.”

“I was…” She nodded. “And I’m not anymore…someone…”

“Verandis brought you back,” Fenn murmured, and Arana nodded, hesitantly glancing from face to face.

“He must have…it felt like him, but I didn’t think…I don’t know…” She let out a shuddering breath. “He’s not here, too?”

“He stayed behind.” Gwendis, wilted and upset, leaned against the wall. “He did it to save everyone in the Reach. Always making sacrifices, him. And always leaving us behind to mourn.”

Ouro sat by the orrery for a long time after the others left, only Fenn at her side. Neither said anything, just taking in the silence. The constant hum of the void powers was gone. It was an eerie silence, but not even ghosts of the Dwemer roamed these places. How could they? The Dwemer weren’t dead, after all. Just…gone. Like Verandis, perhaps. Or they just tinkered with the wrong machine too many times. Who knew?

Fennorian was thinking about the loss of the man who was, in essence, his father, but Ouro’s mind was elsewhere. She turned the crystal over and over in her hand, careful to be mindful if Fenn needed her, but she was strategizing. It was almost time for everything to be over. No more Gray Host. No more Rada al-Saran. No more Tesgrim. No more conflict. No more Riders. It seemed preposterous that she might live a life with Fenn in peace. Hope was dangerous.

A loud crack startled them both, and Ouro half expected to see a dwarven centurion or sphere appear and attack. It looked like cracked glass in the air, a fragmenting of the boundaries between their realm and another. On the floor in a heap lay someone with white hair, a gaunt complexion, and tatty, familiar robes. Slowly he opened his eyes, which were milky and white.

“Father.” Fenn breathed, afraid to believe it.

“Gods, Verandis.” Ouro sighed, relief sweeping over her. “Now you actually look as old as you are.”


	30. Rumination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Contains information pertaining to the questline story of the Markarth DLC.**

It was a wonder that more vampires didn’t take up residence in Markarth. Without a window to be found in any part of the city, it would have made for the perfect, sunless location from what Ouro could tell. The Dwemer must have been very pale folks before becoming very _gone_ folks. The house she’d rented was owned by an Imperial woman who had, for some inexplicable reason, married a Reachman. But like any other persons with a pulse, upon being handed an exorbitant amount of gold, they were only too happy to vacate the premises for a couple days.

No matter what would happen when Ouro would finally come face to face with Tesgrim, everything would be different afterward. Naturally, some of the potential outcomes were better than others, but regardless, she needed a little time with Fenn.

He would meet her there shortly, having taken some time to reconnect with Verandis.

She felt like an idiot, though, standing in the bedroom wearing a ridiculous and mostly transparent garment. Acquiring it had been humiliating enough. Never in her life had she put anything on her body for someone _else’s_ benefit. She slept in her clothes, a shirt, or in the nude, and that had been the long and short of it for more than six centuries. This silly _thing_ she’d donned was simple enough, at least; no frills or lace, just a sort of nightgown, really.

But in frustration and foolishness, Ouro cursed at herself, going at once to her discarded leathers to change back into her own shirt. This was _Fennorian_ , of all people; the man who’d gleefully hauled ass in the direction of a shockingly beautiful and topless woman only to distractedly beg her pardon and begin taking samples of a rare and apparently miraculous little plant growing in the shrubs beside her. A bit of lingerie meant to be worn briefly before being tossed on the floor was _not_ going to impress him.

“Ouro?”

“ _Shit_.” She hissed, shirt in hand. Fennorian stood in the doorway, apparently in shock. Perhaps she’d been wrong, though now she felt more self-conscious than ever. Was he shocked in a good way? Or did he think she looked as idiotic as she felt?

“Um…ah…” He gaped dumbly at her, his eyes moving down and up, then repeating as though he didn’t believe what he was looking at. “You…that is…are y—uhh…” In Ouro’s mind, her body sheathed in a sheer slip of fabric hardly seemed worthy of the stupor he was in. Maybe he’d hit his head on the way there.

“What?” Ouro fidgeted with the safe, comfortable shirt still gripped in one fist. It was too late now to put it on. He made some more syllabic noises but no actual words, and she sighed. “Great. I’ve broken him.”

“No, no…I just…” Fennorian came forward, and his eyes were on hers, at least, not gawking at her battle-worn body any longer, but his eyes dipped down yet again. Barely concealing a frustrated grunt, Ouro took the hem of her shirt, ready to pull it over her head. He blinked, frowning at the motion. “What are you doing?”

“Putting it on.” She muttered.

“Why?”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“Please, don’t.” He put his hand over hers, staying hers for the moment, and she met his gaze again. “I mean…if you’re truly uncomfortable, then by all means…but…you look so lovely.” He exhaled a shuddering breath. “I’ve never seen you all…like this.” His fingertips lightly brushed along her dark, shoulder-length hair. “Did you put that on for…did you…for _me_?” His eyes widened with the realization, flabbergasted.

With cheeks burning hot, Ouro bit back the sarcasm-laced retort and nodded, staring at his shoulder and not his eyes.

“I might have.”

“I’d gladly make it fair, but I’m not sure there’s much to be done about dressing up…this.” He gestured vaguely at his groin. “The only plausible accessory would be a ribbon, I suppose.” Ouro’s jaw dropped, and he continued. “Though, that would be presumptuous, wouldn’t it? It seems doubtful that gift-wrapped genitals would inspire passion in anyone. Not to mention it would ruin holiday sausages forever.” He put his fists on his hips, staring quizzically at his own nethers. “It _would_ inspire hysterical laughter, perhaps, but…” He glanced up at her, and she couldn’t even pull air into her lungs. “Yes, just like that.” Ouro was half bent over, trying to regain even a shred of composure. “Options _are_ fairly limited, but I think I shall spare you the horrors of a skinny Altmer’s beribboned bits.”

“Oh, gods…Fennorian…” She wiped at her eyes.

“I might never be able to seduce you, but at least I can amuse you.” He smiled, reaching out to wipe her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“As the former requires the latter, you do just fine.” All the things weighing on her mind nearly evaporated as he bent, brushing his lips lightly across hers. Ouro didn’t want to rush, though, and gently stepped back. “I’ve got something I think will make you quite happy.” She moved to the other side of the room where Fennorian’s newly mended leathers were neatly folded, but his eyes were wide and expectant when she looked back at him. “Besides _that_. Goodness, Fenn.” She sighed and picked up the jack, holding it out to him.

“They’re done?!” He gasped, almost falling over himself to reach her side, taking hold of the garment. She shared his relief, even if it was to not watch him incessantly fussing about and muttering uncomfortably anymore.

“Yes, finally. Now you won’t have to squirm so much.” She grinned.

“Can I burn these other ones?”

“You can try. Leather is fairly resilient.”

“Well, I know that. But that’s not to say it won’t be incredibly satisfying to douse them with some extremely caustic accelerant and setting them aflame.” Fennorian set the jack aside, starting to hurriedly unfasten the one he was still wearing.

“Are you putting them on _now_?” Ouro laughed. He paused.

“No…but…I am looking forward to not wearing _these_ anymore, and also, well…I suppose I assumed I didn’t need to be dressed…” His eyes slipped down again to her breasts. “Do I?”

She gave a snort. “No.”

“Though…”

“Though what?” Ouro frowned a little as his hands halted.

“Why are we here?” He asked. “In this house, I mean. Not…existentially.”

She thought it was unlikely that Fennorian had ever experienced the feelings that often plagued warriors and soldiers in the time leading up to battle. It was a desire for closeness, some happy memory to cling to in case there was to never be another happy thought again. Perhaps also it was preemptive closure, though to say that would send him into a panic, and she didn’t want that.

“I wanted to be alone together someplace that wasn’t in a rocky crag or under brush. There’s no telling what’s to come…so…”

“I see.” As he sobered considerably, it seemed he’d gotten the message despite her efforts to dance around it. “Do you really think things could go badly?”

“I don’t want to think about it or talk about it for right now. Which…that’s another reason we’re here. Can you set all that aside for just a little while and be here with me?” Telling Fennorian _not_ to think about something was about as effective as a paper rain hat. He nodded, though, taking off the jacket, then sat down and began unlacing his boots.

Ouro screamed internally throughout the painful silence that ensued, reaching for anything to say that might whisk them back to the more mirthful mood from a few moments ago.

“Verandis was concerned that you felt unwelcome to stay and talk with us.” Fenn pulled off a boot and tossed it down. Ugh, that subject was scarcely an improvement upon the battle.

“No, I simply didn’t have anything to talk about, and there were other things that needed my attention. Besides, the two of you had a lot of catching up to do.” Ouro shrugged. She didn’t really want to talk about Verandis, but Fenn seemed to have let go of his reservations regarding her past with him, at least.

“I feel much better knowing that even though he won’t be around like before, he’s not _gone_.” Off came his other boot.

“Have you told the others yet?” Ouro stepped between his knees and combed her fingers through his shaggy hair, brushing it back. Fenn shook his head.

“He asked me not to so that he might be the one to explain it. I imagine in an effort to spare me from whatever furious barrage of emotion that will come exploding forth from Gwendis.”

“True. She’s not exactly a picture of serenity.”

The way his eyes were fixed on her, she could tell he had something else to say.

“Ouro…would you ever consider becoming part of House Ravenwatch?” His fingertips trailed up the backs of her thighs; the sensation through the sheer fabric sent a small chill up her spine.

“I can’t say that I’m particularly keen on the idea of being _adopted_ by Verandis. And I don’t want to be your _sister_.” She smiled, and he pulled her a little closer.

“That…that’s not the _only_ way.” He swallowed audibly, and Ouro’s extremities went numb as she froze in place. Sensing her hesitance, he went on to present further evidence. Because, of course, he did. “There have been pairs who have sworn oaths to each other and lived together for centuries but still never bound themselves together by sharing their blood. And, well…we _have_ already.”

“Do you regret it?” The question was barely a whisper, and asking it felt like baring her throat to be torn out.

“No, of course not.” Fennorian shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve shared my blood willingly with you; I want to share my family, too, and the shelter and safety they provide. Unique and…incredibly dysfunctional as they are.”

Words refused to emerge from her mouth, and Ouro just stared at him. She wanted to say yes, and to give in to the giddiness that it would make her feel, but as she always had, she denied herself even that. But how could she tell him yes only to have her life become forfeit in a matter of days? But it was as he’d said: they’d already shared their blood. It made little difference; his grief would be catastrophic either way. She didn’t want to promise him a future that she wasn’t sure would even exist.

Fenn was beginning to look anxious at her lack of response, and she took a deep breath.

“When this is all over…and I have fully passed the mantle of First Rider to Soren and am no longer a Rider…then yes.” That answer didn’t feel like a false promise. She meant it, and the grin that suddenly spread across his face made her wish for a way to come out of the fight alive.

“Really?”

“ _Yes_ , really.” Ouro rolled her eyes then grabbed his shirt, tugging it upward to hopefully provide enough distraction that he didn’t want to discuss the matter to death. He let her pull it over his head, still grinning.

“Would you wear a dress?” Mischief ran rampant through him then.

“Would that please you?”

“I could never ask you to do something just to please me.” He shook his head, and Ouro arched a wry brow at him. “ _That_ doesn’t count; I _always_ reciprocate.”

“Do you _want_ me to wear a dress?” She couldn’t remember the last time that she had. He got shy, suddenly, cheeks dark as he looked down. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, it’s…silly, is all.”

“It’s not. Just tell me.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” Ouro folded her arms. “Unless there’s a bow on your cock…then all bets are off in that case, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fair.” He smirked. “Well…I’ve thought about you in a dress.”

“Like this?” She looked down at herself.

“No, that’s a window dressing that happens to look very fetching draped over your naked body.” His mischief intensified.

Ouro grabbed the hem and started examining a seam. “Oh, my gods, I think you’re right…it’s a fucking curtain.”

“Huh. I suppose it really is. I’m not sure there’s any other reason to wear it.” Fennorian stroked his chin, pleased with the strangled, spluttering noise she made. He cleared his throat, though. “Anyway, as I was saying…” He took her by the hips, pulling her just a little closer. “It wasn’t long after we met the first time at Castle Ravenwatch. I wasn’t often distracted by such thoughts, but…I nearly burnt the top of the desk to cinders while my mind was wandering about it.”

“Well…what sort of dress?”

“Something…long.” He hooked his fingers under the straps of the gossamer gown she was currently wearing and pulled them gently down her shoulders. “…that lets your neck and shoulders be bare.” Her eyes were drawn to the mottled burn scar that spanned from the top of her left breast and up over her shoulder.

“Well…”

Fennorian interrupted her protest before she could really make it by pressing a lingering kiss against the scarred skin, then he pulled the top down until it hung on her hips. The look in his eyes did enough to chide her for worrying about such a thing. Her heart quickened as she felt his breath against her, and whatever intentions she’d had of going much more slowly had vanished.

Ouro reached for the laces at his waist, hastily untying them, but she hesitated very briefly, catching his eye.

“No ribbons this time.” He grinned.

“That’s probably for the best. I have it on good authority that it’s rather degrading to laugh when a man takes his trousers off.”

He gave a snort. “Mmhm.”

Entirely disrobed, at last, Fennorian laid down, watching Ouro as she sat beside him, fingers lightly skimming his skin from ribs to hip and back again.

“Would you be alright if we stayed like this? On your back?” It was a gentle question, one she’d wanted to ask for some time now. From the beginning of their physically intimate activities, Fenn never remained supine for more than a moment or so. She never argued or questioned it, knowing that for someone who’d gone through what he had, such a vulnerable position could be uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Yes.” He nodded, then smirked. “I will just turn you over if I change my mind.”

Ouro shimmied out of her transparent nightgown and straddled Fennorian. He sat up and kissed her mouth, one arm lifting her, the other guiding himself already. No preamble, then. They had as much time as they needed, though. He was still for a moment, and they just held onto each other, connected deeply by more than their bodies.

“You always close your eyes.” He whispered, which prompted Ouro to open them. He was searching. “I see so many things happening in your eyes when I do have the opportunity to look at you like this.” He whispered.

“What do you see?”

“All the things you never say…things you stop yourself from saying.” He kissed her, his hand on the back of her neck, and moved a little, eliciting a quiet gasp from her before he stilled once again.

“That’s because it’s too much.”

“Too much to say?”

“I just…don’t know how.” She shook her head, but this was exactly why she wanted them to have this time, to take away everything that stopped her.

“I think you must.” Fennorian squeezed his eyes shut, his face buried against her neck. He knew, somehow, that this could be the last time they were ever together.

“I…you…” Ouro steeled herself. “I didn’t know another person could mean so much.” Her voice was shaky. “I prided myself on being fearless…having nothing to lose…and now…”

“There is everything to lose. As much for me as for you.” It was almost as if he was pleading. He couldn’t really reach into her mind when they were joined this way, could he? No, of course not, she’d feel that.

“You’ve taught me so much…and so much has changed…and I want you to know how much I appreciate…everything you’ve given me.” She breathed, and his eyes opened.

“Do _not_ say goodbye to me, Ouro. Not ever…you mustn’t.”

“I…”

“No.” He shook his head. “You promised me that after everything was done, we would…we _will_ be joined together…and I cannot let you even entertain the thought that it won’t happen.”

“All I can say, then, is how much I’ve come to love you.” She kissed him, and slowly, Fenn laid back, his hands coming to rest on her hips as she braced herself on his chest. His eyes were fixed on hers as she moved until they rolled back, and he exhaled sharply.

“Now…I feel foolish…” He panted.

“Why is that?”

“That I was ever afraid to be at your mercy this way.” He arched up a little, fingers digging into her hips.

“You’re not at my mercy, Fennorian. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Ouro grinned. “I’m at yours. All you have to say is stop.”

“Please, don’t ever.”

Ouro leaned down and kissed him, and he wrapped his arms around her.

* * *

.

* * *

Raised voices jolted Fennorian to consciousness, particularly the heated tones in Ouro’s voice as she berated someone. He leapt from the bed and pulled his clothes on as quickly as he could manage, barely pausing to appreciate just how wonderful it felt to be in his _own_ leathers again. Thanks to a lack of windows and time-telling devices, he had no idea how long he’d been asleep. Haphazardly thrown together, he jogged out to the main living space of the strange, Dwemer apartment and found Ouro and her mother at each other’s throats, shouting in a language he didn’t speak. Looking as shocked as Fennorian felt, against the far wall stood Soren, arms crossed, and eyebrows arched high as he looked back and forth between the furious women.

Fennorian sidled over. “What…?”

“I have no idea.” Soren shook his head. “I’m not even sure who that is.”

“That’s…her mother…” Fennorian frowned, looking over at the other Altmer, who looked more surprised still. Somehow, he’d always believed Soren knew everything about Ouro, that he’d been her closest confidant and friend. So, surely, she must have told her Second Rider all about where she came from? Perhaps not. Fennorian couldn’t deny the twinge of smug pride he felt being the one she trusted with such delicate and intimate knowledge. Perhaps one day, he wouldn’t be so astounded by the trust she’d placed in him. Today was not that day.

Fennorian also noticed then that Soren appeared to be in possession of both forearms and hands, and he blinked, staring for a moment. Soren saw the direction of his questioning gaze though and waved his gloved fingers.

“Curious?”

“Considering that the last time I saw you, it had just been ripped off at the elbow? Yes, more than a little.” He knew that Ouro had colorfully indicated that unlike mudcrabs, vampire limbs do not, in fact, grow back. The only other explanation was some form of sorcery he knew nothing about, which meant he had about five hundred questions at the ready.

“A certain melancholy Chimer with a penchant for tinkering with things owes Ouro several favors, so she collected on one.” Soren smiled down at his hands, clearly pleased to have two again.

“I thought you were content to have made such a sacrifice.” Fennorian cast a wry look at him.

Soren shrugged. “At that moment, I had thought so, but mostly I was just glad not to be dead. I’m sure I don’t have to tell _you_ the benefit of having two hands.” A mischievous smirk spread across his lips. “She’s a lot to hang onto.” Fennorian would have liked to respond with some impassive remark and been entirely unruffled by the obvious goad, but as of late, he was running rather thin on the ability to mask his emotions. “Ah, still easy to shock.” Soren chuckled. “Not to worry, friend, I wouldn’t know firsthand.” The Altmer waggled his fingers at Fennorian again.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Your face did. You’re as good as hiding things as she is, apparently.” Soren continued to grin. “You’ll be relieved to know that some centuries ago, shortly after swearing my oath to the Riders, I made _one_ very _drunken_ overture for which she beat me senseless. Took me days to recover.”

“The rules of polite discourse would suggest that I should _not_ voice just how pleased I am to hear that, but alas…” Fennorian smiled with a shrug of feigned apology.

“You _are_ funny; I see why she likes you.” Soren nodded appreciatively. “So, that’s her mother? As in…the woman who gave literal expulsed-from-womb birth to her?”

“You can’t tell? They look just alike. Were they not mother and daughter, it would be disturbing and uncanny.” Fennorian scoffed, wondering how others didn’t see such apparent details.

“I hadn’t looked that closely, I suppose.” Soren shrugged and then neatly dodged a flying ewer by moving his head to one side, entirely unphased.

“Gossiping and clucking like old hens!” Came Edalie’s scathing accusation. Fennorian turned to the women only to be met with identical furious stares. He was wrong; it was disturbing regardless of knowing they were mother and daughter. Ouro had clearly flung the pitcher, another decanter in hand, lest she need to try harder to interrupt their blathering.

“You seemed busy,” Fennorian told her.

“Perhaps _you_ can talk some sense into her thick head.” Edalie huffed impatiently.

“Mother, don’t…” Ouro warned, but her mother ignored it.

“Judging by the glare my daughter is giving me, it is safe to assume she’s never explained just where she gets her power from…”

“I do _not_ get my power _from_ …just…stop!” Ouro threw her hands up in frustration.

“Very well, what amplifies her power beyond all comprehension.” Edalie rolled her eyes. “You have seen a little of what she is capable; it’s in your eyes. To do what she does, to stamp out the enemies of the Riders and to wield them as she does…”

“Mother, please…”

“…she must drain the blood and very lifeforce from a mortal.” Edalie folded her arms, satisfied to have unveiled the nature of their argument. Fennorian frowned, processing the implications, and when he looked at Ouro, he saw shame in her eyes.

“You mean…a life must be taken?” He asked carefully. With a glance at Soren, it was obvious that it was not news to him.

“I am not doing it this time…we are strong enough to fight…” Ouro started.

“You are deluded if you believe that.” Edalie scoffed. “Tesgrim is thousands of years old, and he’s brilliant to boot. You need every shred of power you can get, and I have brought you what you need.”

“I _said_ no…”

“Fennorian.” Edalie turned back toward him again. “I understand your reservations where the taking of a life is concerned. But I have brought with me a Wyress who is both powerful and willing to give her life for this.”

“What?” He breathed. In his life, though it was not long, Fennorian had witnessed noble sacrifices, but never a one of _this_ nature.

“A willing sacrifice provides much more power than an unwilling one, and this one is very strong, even in my opinion.” Edalie went on to explain.

“It is true,” Soren spoke up. “I have witnessed both, and Ouro’s power grows tenfold when the life is offered up rather than taken.”

Fennorian knew Ouro’s fear, the thing causing her the shame and apprehension that shone so vividly on her face. He abhorred murder and the needless loss of innocent life. She’d told him more than once that there was a great deal in her past that he would not be comfortable with. Always he’d pushed it out of mind. The matter was not black and white, though, even he knew that with his strict adherence to the code Verandis put in place for the Ravenwatch. Undoubtedly, Verandis knew all this about Ouro already, and he’d deemed her a worthy friend to them regardless. If she had taken unwilling lives, surely it was out of necessity. He hoped so, anyway. He also knew the pleasure of feeding on mortals and how much stronger it was if the mortal died in the process.

“There are contingency plans in place that mean I don’t need to do this.” Ouro came up to him, apprehension in her gaze. “I…”

“Plans you refuse to tell _me_.” He whispered. She all but gasped, as he hadn’t voiced the looming concerns that had darkened his thoughts every day since she’d used her mysterious keystone. “And if it is something you will not tell even me, I can only assume it’s…not good. But…if this Wyress your mother has brought is truly willing to give her life to give you the strength and power to overcome Tesgrim, then I see no argument against it. It is _her_ life to give, _her_ choice that not I or anyone can judge.”

“What _contingency plans_ , Ouro?” Edalie narrowed her eyes at her daughter, suddenly suspicious. “What have you done that is so terrible you will not even tell the man you’ve given your blood to?”

“Mother, stop.” Ouro closed her eyes and shook her head. An expanding pit of fear settled in Fennorian’s belly, and he could not reason it away. He took Ouro’s hands, holding them tightly.

“I won’t demand now that you tell me anything, and I never will, but…I don’t feel good about whatever you haven’t said. Something you’re afraid to tell even me should be a last resort if it must be anything at all. I agree with Edalie; the wisest course is to accept the sacrifice.”

His deepest fear was that Ouro intended to give up her own life, and the things she’d said to him the night before had not allayed that fear. While it sickened him to be so selfish…he much preferred that some willing person die in her stead. To lose Ouro after everything they’d been through…he could not even think it.


	31. Reckoning

Fennorian did not count the fights, scuffles, and run-ins with various hostiles as _real_ combat. Or at least, it wasn’t combat at the scale he was observing preparations for. At any given moment, he was the smartest person in any room, but here, seeing the Blood Riders as they readied themselves, he felt vestigial at best and a hindrance at worst. Where outright _war_ was concerned, however, he was fairly content with that. The weight of the burden Ouro was carrying was absolutely unimaginable. All these lives in her hands to use, with their consent, as she would.

Perhaps he was a coward, that he feared harm, or that he didn’t wish to be part of the action, so to speak. He’d proven otherwise, though, hadn’t he? Impressing even Lyris Titanborn when the two of them were face to face with what seemed like a legion of harrowfiends. No, it wasn’t cowardice he was feeling, but he _was_ afraid; he feared for Ouro’s life and the possible outcomes. Worst of all, he felt guilty that he had nothing to contribute, no way to help her.

From where he observed, he could see her standing with Soren, face grim, watching her Riders while they discussed what he could only imagine were tactics and plans. So many would fall; they all knew it. It was strange to see her that way, armored in black, liked the rest, weapons ready. There was a darkness in her eyes he was unaccustomed to. He knew Ouro the woman, not Ouro the Rider, and even she had only recently come to understand that they were not one and the same.

“Fennorian.” The voice startled him, and he nearly toppled over as he jumped.

“Father!” He gasped, seeing Verandis approach. This new visage of him, like a shade of death, was still so very jarring. He was alive, but he looked like a ghost. “What are you doing here?”

“Ouro asked that I be with you until the fighting is over.” He replied softly. Dread dropped into Fennorian’s stomach. No doubt Verandis being present was meant to comfort him…or to console him, but it served only to reinforce the dread that threaded through him.

“I have the most terrible feeling.” He whispered. Verandis put an arm across his shoulders.

“I know, my son.”

Somehow, nearly three hundred armored vampires went unnoticed in the mid-morning hours amongst the Reach’s rocky hills. Fennorian and Verandis stayed well out of the way, but regardless of anything Ouro told him, Fennorian would not leave. As she approached, Verandis stepped away to give them a few moments in private.

“You really want to witness all this?” She asked.

“What would you do in my place?” He traced the edge of one black pauldron, doing his best not to fidget, and Ouro nodded.

“Good point.” She let out a long breath. “You’ve seen me a lot of ways, Fennorian, you’ve even seen me fight…but you’ve never watched me wage war.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You can never unsee what is going to happen here today. I must kill an innocent woman, and with the power it gives me, lead my Riders into a trap that will result in the death of many of them.” She was clearly worried that his feelings for her would change. He’d already imagined every possible permutation of what might happen, and it changed nothing.

“I’ve prepared myself, Ouro. As best I can, anyway. I cannot abide the mindless slaughter of innocents, but this isn’t…that. You have to do whatever you must.” His fear grew with the terrible feeling in his gut.

“Well, I will understand if you don’t…”

“No.” Fennorian took her by the shoulders, stopping her before she could finish the sentence. She let out a long breath and nodded. He knew her; he knew that she took the lives of her Riders as well as everyone else very seriously.

“I haven’t got much time; I just wanted to see you before we…go.” She put her hands on his chest, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Fennorian…everything about you is beautiful and good, and…so much more than I deserve. But I’m grateful we found each other and that you think much more highly of me than I do.” She smiled a little sadly.

Fennorian clenched and unclenched his teeth, shaking his head and doing what he could to stay composed.

“Stop…saying…goodbye. I _told_ you.” There was a tremble in his voice, but she rose up on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his lips. How was it he could have her physically _in_ his hands, but she was slipping away anyhow?

“I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No, you don’t, so you shouldn’t talk like you do.” He didn’t know either, and it was more frightening at that moment than the thought of being strapped to Tzinghalis’s machine again.

“I love you.” She stepped away from him and was gone, marching down the embankment before he could say anything. His hands still hung in the air before him, with palpable empty space between them.

Fennorian’s heart started to pound, and the edges of his vision grew dark, but Verandis had appeared and helped him sit on a boulder before he could fall. He felt like he’d been running, out of breath, struggling for air. He was suffocating on nothing, body shaking as he stared down the hill at the Riders, mounted and ready.

“Why…why isn’t there anything I can _do?_ ” He demanded frantically. “Why am I to sit back and watch her die? How can I? What kind of a person lets their…?”

“I wish there was anything I could say to soothe you, Fennorian, but…” Verandis sighed, his hand on Fennorian’s shoulder.

“She would never… _never_ stand back and watch me doing something… _so_ stupid!” He tried to stand up, but Verandis held him in place.

“I’m here to ensure her wishes are respected whatever the outcome, Fennorian. I will not let you endanger yourself.”

“My life isn’t yours to guard!” He tried to rise again, but still, Verandis kept him there.

“Think, Fennorian, _think_ with that massive intellect. What could you do to change things? What would she do if something happened to you?”

“I…I feel powerless, and…shouldn’t I be able to do more for her? The woman I love…the woman I promised to spend the rest of my _existence_ with…” He looked up at his father’s face, and Verandis blinked quickly, swallowing as he schooled his face, then simply shook his head.

“You are exactly as you should be, Fennorian.”

Helplessly, they watched below. Ouro stood at the front of her ranks, saying nothing, just…looking at them. Her mother appeared, a young woman with her, the wyress who had volunteered her life. Her eyes darted from the officers to the rest of the Riders before settling on Ouro, widening as she peered at the person meant to kill her. Ouro turned and looked at the girl, and Fennorian knew she could see the fear as much as anyone else could.

“I cannot do this if you are afraid,” Ouro told her. She didn’t need to raise her voice; every single one of them could hear her clear as day. “I won’t.”

“I…I…” The young woman was shaking. “I’ve seen…many die. _Death_ itself isn’t frightening…I…”

“You fear pain.” Ouro nodded.

“Are you going to hurt me?” It was a question that would only concern the living. Vampires felt pain and could suffer from it, but it did not inspire quite the same fear as it did for those with finite time.

“No. There will be no pain.”

The wyress squared her shoulders and nodded then. Fennorian quietly envied the peace she made with whatever would come next for her.

“This isn’t what she wants to do.” He murmured to Verandis.

“The things we do for the good of Tamriel are seldom things we _want_ to do.” Verandis knew that almost better than anyone else, didn’t he?

Ouro took a step forward, and the instant her hand touched the woman’s shoulder, she crumpled, unconscious. Catching the girl carefully, she hesitated for a long moment. Edalie stepped back from her daughter, and the faces of all the Riders were unreadable. No one was surprised; they’d all witnessed this before. Ouro’s power was their power, too, Fennorian knew.

Finally, she bent her head and bit the unconscious wyress. Fennorian had never seen her feed on anyone other than himself and leaned forward, peering at the scene below. Her eyes flashed red as she drank, growing brighter with every passing heartbeat.

And then her eyes turned black. Fennorian witnessed it once before when she came for him in that tower in Blackreach. When she set the now lifeless woman down and rose to her feet once again, there was blood running down her chin. Ouro put her hands out to her sides, palms glowing red. The aura expanded, and she brought her hands together, releasing a massive, visible pulse of power that rippled through the valley, shaking leaves and disturbing dust.

“What…?” Fennorian breathed.

“Very old blood magic…from somewhere _very_ far away,” Verandis told him, his voice hushed. Below, the Riders seemed to take a collective breath. “Did she ever tell you about it?”

“No.” The closest he could recall was when she called the Riders to Solitude.

“It connects all of them to her, and her to them. They do as she wills, and she sees what they see. That is why every battle they’ve fought, they have destroyed their enemies.” Verandis sounded a little bit in awe, and Fennorian hadn’t quite wrapped his head around it. Surely then, she should be more confident about this fight if they’d always fared so well in the past, right?

Ouro shouted something to the Riders in a language he’d never heard, and they all raised their weapons and responded in kind.

“Something’s wrong.” Verandis stood abruptly.

“What?” Fennorian got up, feeling it too, and glanced around. He saw Ouro whirl, looking to the other embankment before she vanished, reappearing farther ahead, mounted on Brazzelac.

Black smoke poured over the edge of the hill, and from it teemed vampires. Some were armored, some not, some seemed feral like wild animals, while others carried more sophisticated weapons. Tesgrim’s forces were upon them already and in broad daylight.

“But I thought…” Fennorian blinked, taken aback, his heart in his throat.

“Nothing that anyone might think where Tesgrim is concerned can be trusted. Come with me!” Verandis ran along the top of the hill, and Fennorian had no choice but to follow. The sound of fighting filled their ears and clawed at his mind. It was difficult not to wonder if this was what Ouro had intended. More than once, she’d told him that the way to beat Tesgrim was for him to believe he had won. The words haunted him. How many would have to die before that monster thought he had the upper hand?

Ahead, the towers of Bthardamz came into view, and Fennorian could see both that it was where the vampires were coming from and where the Riders were headed. Ouro cut a path through them, riding far ahead of the others who were being swarmed. The glimpses he caught of the fighting—the skill with which they dispatched Tesgrim’s forces was unbelievable. But there were so many; the Riders were grievously outnumbered. They couldn’t be beaten with skill, so sheer volume had been employed instead.

To have numbers like this, Tesgrim had to have prepared for a very long time, well before anyone in the Riders could have suspected.

Ouro was pulled from her horse, and Fennorian gasped, lunging toward the edge, but Verandis caught him.

“Stay _alive_ , Fennorian!” He barked.

A cloud of red mist appeared with them, and a female Rider materialized from it. Her eyes were black, too.

“The First Rider has sent me to ensure your safety.” She told them, a long polearm with a very sharp bladed end in her hands.

“That’s ridiculous!” Fennorian spat, knowing full well that any attempts he made to assist would be summarily halted by a warrior like this. In illustration, a stray vampire climbed its way up the embankment, snarling at them. Effortlessly, the Rider lunged, impaling it, and with the swipe of another blade, she severed the head.

“Ridiculous, is it?” She tilted her head a little, and an unnerving shiver went down his spine. Was he talking to this warrior or Ouro?

The Riders began making headway, getting closer to the gates of Bthardamz when a fresh wave of Tesgrim’s vampires was dispatched. The Rider babysitting Fennorian and an unexpectedly compliant Verandis had pulled them back, and he could only just see over the edge to watch what was happening.

Ouro clawed her way through the masses, taking out any that she needed to, but largely ignored the rest. She had one goal in mind and was leaving the swarm to the Riders. Fennorian knew she had a plan, and it was something she’d refused to tell him about.

Ignoring the protests of Verandis and their guard, Fennorian turned to mist, speeding along the ridge, coming closer to the gates while the fighting still raged below. He looked down over the edge, joined shortly by the other two who both started in on him at once, but he put his hand up to silence them, and they saw the same thing he did.

A vampire lord emerged, head held high, strolling as though he’d gone to walk in the gardens rather than observe the war he started.

 _Tesgrim_.

Fennorian bared his teeth, his panic gone for the moment, lost in the sea of rage that welled up inside him. He knew of the suffering Ouro endured at that monster’s hands.

A blast of red and black magic shot from the roiling mass of fighting vampires, but Tesgrim deflected it with a simple gesture, almost looking bored. The shouts of battle became screams of terror as suddenly, with a rumbling explosion, some sort of dark mass began to swirl, pulling in anyone who was near it. Ouro came forward, unaffected. Closing her fists, those who weren’t caught in the pull and had run to attack her, were crushed.

“It didn’t have to be this way, Ouro.” Tesgrim boomed. He folded his arms, shaking his head as a parent might toward their errant child, and she snarled.

“Yes, it did.” Her chest was heaving. “When my _daughter_ died in my arms, I knew it was _only_ going to be this way.” The words tore from her, raw and ragged. The smug expression on Tesgrim’s face fell for the first time, and he dropped his arms. He truly hadn’t known all this time. Beside Fennorian, Verandis made a choked noise of surprise and alarm.

“You…”

“ _NO!_ ” She hurled another blast at him, and it caught the edge of his wing, but he ignored it, staring at her.

“You can attack me all day long if you like; you always did seem to enjoy exercises in futility.” The smug, mocking tone he affected was grating. “That girl you killed, you took her power…and for what? To bounce your _angry_ magic off of me? To what end? I was the _first_ to be _born_ not very long after our kind began. Do you _know_ how long ago that was?” Tesgrim scoffed at Ouro.

“I do.” She nodded, glancing skyward briefly. “You know me better than that, Tesgrim. Killing you isn’t why I accepted the blood sacrifice.” She looked around again, and Tesgrim narrowed his eyes at her.

“What? Did you call upon _allies_?”

“Just one…and just this once.” She reached skyward, teeth bared, power blazing upward from her hand, red and blue with ribbons of black winding around the column. Small cracks started to form in the very sky above their heads.

“No…” Verandis gasped, reaching a conclusion that Fennorian hadn’t yet. “ _Ouro no!_ ” His scream startled him, seeing the horror etched on his gaunt face. Speechless and shaken, he looked back at Ouro and watched Tesgrim attempt to disrupt her channel, but an undulating, transparent shield appeared around her, and even his ancient and powerful attacks could not budge it. It shimmered green, flecks of glowing leaf emanating from it. The Wyrd magic was protecting her.

“What is she doing?” Fennorian asked. To his left, the Rider suddenly blinked, and her eyes cleared. She shook her head, confused, gasping.

“I can’t feel her…” She said suddenly. “She’s _severed_ the connection!”

“ _What?_ ” Fennorian’s fear wound itself around his heart again, unable to take his eyes from the woman he loved below.

The cracks above spread further, and a ragged scream tore from Ouro as she redoubled her effort. A small hole appeared at the center of the fracture with a bright flash, lighting crackling outward from it. It was enough, apparently, as the channeling stopped. In her other hand, Fennorian saw the keystone…the object that had allowed the passage into Rada al-Saran’s private realm, the remnant of…

“Oh, no.” The truth of what was happening finally settled on him, and he could only watch, frozen in horror as she flung the keystone skyward, and it was sucked to the fissure. As it met with the spark, there was a deafening thundercrack as a gaping purple and blue wound opened in the sky, the deep blaring horn of Coldharbour echoing across the valley.

“What did you _do_?!” Tesgrim demanded, afraid for what was likely the first time in his entire life.

“Whatever I had to.” Ouro was breathing hard, and she looked up at the portal she’d created, its light reflecting on her face. Tesgrim backed up, ready to flee. She reached up again and pulled her hand downward. From the wound hurled a thick chain that fastened a manacle to Tesgrim’s wrist. She repeated the gesture, and a second dropped, snaring him as he fought and pulled. It was like looking at a freshy caught beast as he struggled against his binds.

Every vampire—Riders and foes alike, had ceased their combat and stood, staring up at the rent sky in a mixture of fear and fascination. It didn’t matter how _old_ Tesgrim was, he could not overpower the chains of a daedric prince.

A deep rumble started to shake the ground; even the air seemed to vibrate. Fennorian was transfixed, looking at the horrified expression on Tesgrim’s face as the chains began to pull him upward, and the grim satisfaction on Ouro’s. She would never have to worry again, never look over her shoulder for fear that Tesgrim was coming. As he rose up, more chains dropped down, wrapping around his middle and legs, pulling him higher, faster. Fennorian wanted to see him sucked into Oblivion, he wanted the proof that Tesgrim was _gone._

Ouro turned then and looked up at Fennorian, meeting his eyes. The world was still for a fraction of a moment as they looked at each other. The rumble grew louder, and the sound of Verandis’s screams finally tore his attention from her.

“What…?”

Verandis dragged Fennorian down, shielding his body with his own as an explosion shook probably the whole of the Reach itself. The shockwave blew dirt and debris in every direction, and his ears were ringing. Struggling, he got to his feet, looking around him. The air was full of dirt and ash, the rank odor of daedric magic assaulting his nose. He could hardly see two feet in front of his face as he skidded down the hill, loose soil giving out under his feet. Tripping on a raised root, he stumbled. There were shapes in the murk, vampires milling about as confused and lost as he was.

He couldn’t even hear himself calling her name. His throat was raw, his eyes stinging from the soot. Trying to shield his eyes did nothing, and he bumped into someone large who vanished again into the dirt cloud.

Dust was slowly beginning to settle as he blindly moved around where he thought Ouro had been. A breeze picked up, blowing enough that the sun glinted off a piece of metal on the massive Dwemer gatehouse. He’d been walking in the wrong direction entirely.

“Ouro!” He called, hearing slowing returning. Distantly he could hear Verandis searching for him, but that didn’t matter. Fennorian called for her again, and the wind picked up, clearing more of the dust.

At the foot of the gate stairs, a dark shape lay in the dirt.

Every part of him felt cold; he didn’t even feel himself running. Hitting a small stone with his heel, he stumbled again and fell. Trying to catch himself, the gravel tore at the skin of his hands, but Fennorian scrambled to get up, feet sliding in the dirt. His eyes were fixed on that shape, and the pounding of his heart echoed in his ears as he silently begged to be wrong, but he knew he wasn’t.

He dropped down to his knees as a wretched, anguished sound rang out. It was _him_ , it was his cry.

She’d fallen on her side, her back to him. Hands shaking, he took her shoulder, rolling her toward him. She was so pale and so very still. Fennorian’s vision blurred as he wanted to shake her, anything that might mean she wasn’t gone. Dust coated her armor, and there was dirt smudged on her face.

A dark void opened in his chest, and it felt as though he was being dragged into it. Even his logical mind scrambled for any possible way this wasn’t happening.

Fennorian took her then, pulling her to his chest, rocking gently, face buried against her neck, as she lay limply in his arms. He shook, wracked with the expanding grief. It would swallow and consume him, and he would let it.

The fighting had stopped; there was no need for it anymore, and the Riders slowly came forward, gathering, watching in stunned silence. Their leader, someone all of them in some way had believed to be invincible…was gone.

“Ouro?” Someone shouted from behind Fennorian. No one made a sound, and there was only the sound of boots on dirt as Soren ran up. “Ouro…? No…”

“I am so sorry, Fennorian…” Verandis’s tone was strained, and even he was stunned.

“This is what I was afraid of.” Bitterness shook in Fennorian’s words, and when he pulled back, his tears had streaked through the dust on Ouro’s face. “She kept saying goodbye…and I refused…I didn’t tell her…” He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, angry and in pain. A shuddering exhale escaped him, and he forced himself to look at her again.

Fennorian jerked slightly, startled to find a pair of red eyes looking up at him. Anything and everything had ceased making sense, and he was sure it was a hallucination brought on by the gaping wound in his heart. Some practical part of his brain still operated, even if the rest of him was utterly broken. She blinked, though.

Confused, he touched her face, too afraid to allow the possibility as he stared into her eyes.

“Ouro.” He whispered. She gave a tiny nod. “But…you…were dead…”

“I am.” Came her hoarse whisper. “So are you.”

“No, you were _dead_ dead.” He felt like he was going to come completely apart.

“Just a little.” She shrugged a shoulder but winced a little.

“Ouro?!” Soren made a strangled noise, which was punctuated by immediate uproar around them.

“Is this…real? Are you…?” He spluttered, and feeling detached from reality, he turned to the only anchor he had left. “Father?” Fennorian looked up, and Verandis dropped to his knees beside him, looking as shocked and flabbergasted as he’d ever seen him.

“What…what _happened?_ ” He demanded, peering at her.

“A lot of things, I suppose.” She moved a little, but Fennorian wouldn’t let her go. “There was some fighting, you might have noticed, and then I did a thing…”

“A… _thing?_ ” Verandis looked ready to fly off the handle. There was a lot of anger mixed in his voice and face.

“You’re not gone?” Fennorian whispered to her, ignoring everyone else.

“Seems I’m a bit harder to get rid of than even I thought.” She shrugged but reached up, putting her arms around his neck. Only then did her face change, brow furrowing as regret crossed her features. “I’m…so sorry I caused you this pain…I didn’t know how else…”

“It doesn’t matter.” He held her close, eyes closed as relief washed through him, tears streaming still, but in joy.

“You say that now, but I feel like I’m in for a stern talking-to.” She smiled against his neck, and Fennorian let out a choked laugh.

“Well, I have questions.” He grinned, and she pulled back.

“Of course, you do.”

* * *

.

* * *

The fire felt warm, but there was a chill it couldn’t take from Ouro’s bones, one she’d never truly felt before. Fennorian sat close, pressed against her side, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders. On her other side sat Verandis, stewing, and she knew why. Across the way sat Soren and her mother, both staring into the fire. None of them had expected things to happen the way they did. That was the point, though. The absolute unexpected was the only way Ouro could have won.

“Under any other circumstances, you know I’d never demand anything from you…” Fennorian started. “But…this had to do with all of us. Can you tell us what happened?”

Ouro nodded. “I owe it to you. And so much more.” She let out a long breath. “There was nothing I could have done that Tesgrim wouldn’t have anticipated or been able to easily counter. After all, he spent centuries getting to know my mind.” That was as much as she needed to say regarding the past. “We were in the midst of a crisis in Skyrim and then in the Reach. We had a vampire who sought to sever the link to Coldharbour and another who sought to breed us into an actual race that would be free of those bonds as well.”

“Options were limited,” Fennorian murmured, and Ouro nodded. She knew he’d stand by her no matter what, and he didn’t share Verandis’s outrage, but also, he didn’t have the same experiences.

“I did the only thing I had left to do. I told on them.” She shrugged. “Molag Bal is the _Lord_ of Domination. I didn’t suppose he’d be very pleased to have his dominance flouted by his own creations. I hate him as much as anyone else, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to crush their plans as well as force me to do something that benefitted him. So, that was the arrangement. If I saw to it in some way that Rada al-Saran was not successful, he would assist in ridding the world of Tesgrim.”

“That’s it? That’s all you had to give?” Verandis scoffed.

“No, of course not. I sacrificed what remnants of life I possessed from having been born a vampire. If I were eliminating those plotting to circumvent Molag Bal’s dominance, I must also give up the ability to do so. I believed it would outright kill me, but…it seems that he took my life and left me in undeath.” She shrugged. “I’m just a run-of-the-mill vampire now.”

“Your soul is bound to him, too, then?” He shook his head, scowling. He saw no reason to ever bend to the will of that monster, but he didn’t know everything.

“My soul was never his and never will be.”

Needing a breather and a moment to herself, Ouro went to tend to Brazzelac, who’d been casting worried glances her way ever since she’d gotten back to him after the fight. Letting out a long breath, she put her forehead to his.

“What a day.” She murmured.

“Ouro.” Verandis’s voice was still terse and wrought with his disquiet.

“Can I not have even a minute to be outside your glare, Verandis?” She snapped at him. Brazz snorted, ready to do whatever he must, but she shook her head at him.

“Do you understand the _magnitude_ of what you did? Of what _could_ have happened?”

“Yes!” She shoved his chest hard, and he took a faltering step backward, surprised. “Yes, I fucking _do_ , Verandis. I’m not an idiot just because I haven’t lived for thousands of years.”

“You risked opening the whole of _Nirn_ to a daedric prince just to kill one vampire, Ouro. That is no small thing!”

“He still cowers from his last defeat, Verandis.” She bared her teeth. “Do you know what I sacrificed my life for? Hm?”

“There’s more? What, pray tell, else could there be?” He folded his arms.

“My only condition for all of it was that Fennorian be released from his bond to Coldharbour. What was one soul to Bal? He laughed and mocked me for so paltry a request. He thought I’d want power or some other such thing mortals hinge their happiness on. So, I ensured that vampires cannot unfetter themselves from their _prince_ , and in return…Fennorian is free. _That_ was worth dying for. That was worth risking _everything_ for.”

“I…” Verandis blinked, taken back.

“Do you know what it means to be unbound? To have your own soul belong to no one but yourself?” She stepped closer, peering up into his milky eyes. “It means that he could get his life back if he so chooses. The Wyrd can do it…I have _seen_ them do it. But even the cured are bound to Coldharbour. But _he_ is not.”

“Neither are you, Ouro.” He said softly.

“Yes, but I cannot be…” She halted.

“You said it yourself, did you not?” He almost smiled. “You’re just _run-of-the-mill_ now.” It hadn’t occurred to her, somehow, and she stared. Her own mortality was _never_ something she’d had to think about. “You both could be free of this curse.” Verandis nodded. “You’re right. That _is_ worth it.”

Ouro and Fennorian lay quietly in the dark, her head on his chest as she aimlessly traced her finger in circles on his bare chest. Only the starlight shone on them, the sky empty even of the moons that night. Her body did feel different than before, but not so much that it was uncomfortable. It was like wearing new shoes; she’d just have to adjust. But the revelation Verandis had pointed out hung heavily on her mind.

“I can _hear_ you thinking,” Fennorian mumbled drowsily.

“What’s it sound like?” She smirked.

“Hm…some clockwork thing that needs oil. There’s a bit of smoke.”

“Are you calling me old?”

“If _that’s_ what you took from that…then, sure.” He gave a snort.

“Heavy thoughts, I suppose.” She sighed. “Busy day, and all. Died a little. Cried a little. It’s hard to settle my mind.”

“Your mind hardly settles under the best circumstances, so I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“If you had the opportunity to…be mortal again…would you?” She asked without preamble and felt his body stiffen a little.

“I know there are cures, but…” He paused. “I don’t know. In the beginning, the worst part of it all was the fear I would hurt someone, that…I would become a monster. But I have the Ravenwatch, and I have you now. Neither of those things feels relevant anymore. I have a lot yet to learn about being a vampire, but…I’ve made my peace with it. I’ve seen what wanting to be something else does to people.”

“You’re wise for such a wee vampling.” Ouro looked up at him, and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Wee?”

“Well…maybe not _wee_.” She bit her lower lip, grinning.

Fennorian sobered, though. “Why is it bothering you? Is that something you want?”

“I don’t think so. But…it is a comfort to know it’s an option.” She couldn’t tell him that his soul was freed; she couldn’t risk him feeling beholden to her for any reason. Perhaps he deserved to know, but she wasn’t sure yet how to tell him. There was time yet. After all, she couldn’t decide her entire un-life in the span of one night.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Reachmen still made Ouro a bit uneasy, but those in Markarth seemed not to care very much that there was a handful of vampires lurking about in Understone Keep. Their presence had been approved, after all, by the Despot himself. Verandis had revealed to the rest of the Ravenwatch that he still lived, and Fennorian unconvincingly pretended to be surprised. Fortunately for him, the others were far too preoccupied to notice.

“I’d never have guessed Reachmen would be especially keen on formal ceremonies,” Ouro complained as she walked with Fennorian. They were to be present for some address the Ard was giving.

“I suspect that the presence of the Skald King, Jarl Svana, and some of the other leaders from the holds has something to do with it.” He told her. She made a slightly disgruntled noise in reply, wanting nothing more than to get as far from the Reach as she could for at least the next three hundred years.

As they climbed the stairs, Lyris and Sai came into view, huddled together, talking quietly. Ouro had found that she rather liked them, regardless of how rough Lyris might be around the edges…and the fact that the first time they met, the half-giant tried to decapitate her.

“There’s Fenn.” Lyris smiled, and Sai turned to greet them as they approached. Her eyes fell to Ouro, though, and she frowned. “You’re looking a bit pale…”

“You’re looking a bit tall.” She cheerily replied. “Also, the sky is blue, and water is wet.”

“Alright, alright, I got it.” Lyris shook her head.

“Nice to see you again, Sai.” Ouro shook his hand.

“Likewise. I imagine that now the two of you will be able to see all those far-off places you talked about.” It would never cease to be amusing that words came from the massive Redguard, but all you could see was his beard and mustache.

“Possibilities are endless.” She smiled, though.

“Savien should be around here, somewhere. Have you seen him?” Lyris asked.

“Have you checked over and under all the local barmaids?” Ouro offered. Fennorian stifled a laugh, but Lyris nodded knowingly.

“Good point. Fenn, do you think I could have a quick word?” Lyris asked.

“Yes, of course.” Fennorian turned to Ouro. “I’ll meet you inside.”

Not keen on small talk, she happily left them to their discussion and pushed open the large, shining Dwemer door. A great many people were milling about, folks from Eastern and Western Skyrim peppered in amongst the ragtag Reachmen. Spotting Adusa, Ouro made her way to the Khajiit’s side.

“Think this will take long?” She asked out the side of her mouth.

“Bah.” Adusa scoffed. “This one hopes not. The familiarity of home calls. Some time there to rest is badly needed.”

“How much time?” Ouro smirked.

“At least three days.” The khajiit chuckled. “Enough time to get the more pressing Ravenwatch affairs in order.”

“Excuse me.” A feminine voice suddenly chimed in from behind them. Ouro and Adusa both turned around where a young Redguard woman stood. Neither said anything, waiting for her to ask whatever question she had. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…you said Ravenwatch.”

“And?” Adusa crossed her arms, tail twitching impatiently.

“Will Fennorian be here?” The girl looked from Adusa to Ouro and back. Ouro’s brows arched high, wondering just who this woman was. Well, regardless of who she was, she would tease him mercilessly.

“He will be along,” Adusa answered. “You know him?”

“Yes…he saved my life in Bangkorai.”

“ _Ohh_.” Ouro nodded. He’d told her the story and about the girl. “In those ruins.”

“I owe him my thanks.” She looked down briefly, pink coming into her cheeks and a broad grin spread across Ouro’s face. Adusa elbowed her, though.

“Well. He should be in momentarily.” She told the Redguard before sidling toward the back of the room, intent on catching him first.

“Oh.” Fennorian halted, noticing her hovering by the door when he finally came in. “Are the others inside?”

“I spoke with Adusa, and I think I saw Gwendis milling about making some fellow uncomfortable. Seems Bosmer hearts mend quickly.” She shrugged, entering the main chamber with him.

“I think that’s an old friend of Adusa’s. Kathad. She’s recruited him.” He explained.

“Well, better get him away from Gwendis before he changes his mind.” Glancing ahead, she saw the Redguard woman waiting, hands folded behind her back. “Also, there’s someone here to see you?”

“Me?” Fennorian frowned. She nodded her head in the direction of Adusa, and he paused.

“Oh! Shelaria.” He seemed surprised, and upon hearing her name, the young woman turned and smiled, seeing Fennorian. “This is the brave young woman I told you about, Ouro.”

“How are you, Fennorian?” Shelaria asked.

“I’m very well. Oh, this is my…my…” He faltered, cheeks turning red suddenly. “This is Ouro Aduen, of House Ravenwatch. We…”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shelaria. I heard it was _quite_ the adventure in those tombs.” Ouro smiled pleasantly.

“Yes…it was.” Shelaria looked from Ouro to Fennorian, nodding, and understanding what he’d struggled to say.

Fennorian and Shelaria chatted briefly. She extended her gratitude again, making mention that the Pyre Watch, the organization she was part of, shared a great many goals with the Ravenwatch and that perhaps in future endeavors, they might find reason to assist one another. Afterward, as Fennorian stood beside Ouro, she smirked up at him, and he tried very hard to ignore her. She didn’t relent, of course, and he sighed.

“It wasn’t like that.” He whispered.

“Not for you, maybe.” Her smirk broadened as he squirmed. “You have no idea, do you?”

“Idea of _what?_ ”

“Just how many eyes follow you when you walk into a room.” She snickered, seeing the red creep up his neck. He huffed and took her hand, standing a little stiffly.

“Maybe I don’t notice because I don’t care.” He gave her a pointed look, and she shrugged.

“Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Savien hustled into the audience chamber a little out of breath and stood on the other side of Ouro. She glanced over at him and shook her head, trying to keep a straight face.

“Close your fly up, you dog.” She muttered.

“ _Shit._ ” He turned his back to do so, finding himself face to face with a mildly shocked Shelaria. “Hello.” He smiled, laced up, then faced forward again, adjusting his coat. “How have you been?”

“Well enough. Enjoying your accolades, _Hero of the Reach_?” She whispered as the leaders of Skyrim commenced their announcements.

“What do _you_ think?” He winked. “I heard what happened. Impressive, I have to say. I imagine you two are due for a nice, long vacation, eh?”

“We’ve got business to attend to in Rivenspire. But, once things are settled up, we’ve got a ship to catch.” Ouro smiled. What felt like a very long time ago, she’d invited Fennorian to come along with her to Akavir. She wasn’t absolutely sure that’s where they’d go, but they were definitely going somewhere. Fennorian squeezed her hand gently, pulling her a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank everyone SO much for reading!! It means so much to me!


End file.
